Half Baked
by jaistashu
Summary: Arthur, a freshman college student, has been too familiar with loneliness and pining all his life. When the tentative promise of a relationship rears its head, will Arthur take the easy way out or will he be forced to grow past everything he's ever known? [Mint Chocolate; 2P US/1P UK; minor-ish USUK] [Gift for Haki; Rated for casual cursing.] [Ask Blog: halfbakedcrew on tumblr.]
1. Chapter 1

Half Baked

Chapter 1

"What?"

Al twisted his neck back to see a fellow college student standing in the common area entrance. The student he'd seen every so often had that same annoyed look on his face, but this time it was more frustrated than anything.

"Do you ever sleep?" The frustrated student asked. "You're _always_ here watching the TV and lying on the couch like you own it." His body was stiff as if he was trying to hold back an outrage he'd played through his head dozens of times for the past week. "You're not the only student on this floor. The rest of us would like a quiet place to study late at night."

Al's mouth opened, and he nodded. "Yeah, you know there's a library just down the street. Right? They haven't moved it?"

He huffed as anger filled his eyes. "No, they haven't moved the library, and I'm surprised! I'm surprised that we still have a place to…cultivate knowledge while meatheads like you go here! You don't do anything exc—"

A dorm door labeled 419 creaked open beside Arthur, interrupting his rant. "Hey. Ezra Pound, cool it. It's like fucking 1 in the morning. I know extra special college kids like you have to stay up until like fucking 4 but you don't have to be an asshole about it. Chill."

A grin played on Al's lips as he heard his roommate chew out the frustrated student. Thank God Al had a dorm room right next to the common area so he could watch TV while Matt studied or slept.

The dorm door closed, leaving the frustrated student significantly less frustrated and mostly embarrassed. "It's Arthur," he muttered his comeback.

"Nah, Ezra fits you," Al called back to him as he changed the channel. "Literary elitist from the 1900s. Sounds about right. You got the accent down and everything."

Al heard nothing from Arthur except the pad of his thumb tapping against a phone screen. "Ezra Pound was an American."

"Yeah. Just testin' ya. Guess you're not an English major; you would've known without having to Google it."

Arthur went quiet again.

Al watched as the channels flipped through house-hunting, ghost-hunting, pranking, artifact-hunting, and finally stopped on kittens returning from a commercial break with a narrator explaining their behavior.

Al lifted his right arm from the couch's back to make room for Arthur. "What's wrong with your dorm? Is your studying too loud for your roommate?"

Arthur's book creaked as he squeezed it before his slippers scuffed against the carpet. He sat against the arm of the couch, trying to force at least a foot of space between himself and Al. Arthur tucked some blond hair behind an ear and sighed. "Alfred frequently hangs a sock over the doorknob after I leave for dinner."

Kittens of all patterns and colors twisted on the TV as playtime sapped up their energy. Al rested his right arm over the couch's back again.

"I end up grabbing a textbook, a notebook, and a pencil so I can take notes while reading chapters—after I eat, of course. So I'm down there for an hour at the least. And when I come back…" Arthur huffed and curled in tighter. "Well… I just tell him to use his bed and not mine for it. Selfish prick. Just because he's here with a football scholarship, he thinks he can do whoever and whatever he wants."

"So that's why you hate meatheads like me."

Arthur's face pinched with the hot sting of shame. When he spoke, his voice became hesitant to shelter his pride, "You're…not a meathead. Sorry."

"Mhm. I'm sorry, too, but if you think it's best that I'm not a meathead…"

"What?" Arthur lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Al. "You're reaching. That joke is reaching way too far."

Al let out a breath of a laugh before quickly settling back down. "Yeah. I get less funny the higher the moon goes."

They sat in silence as the kittens faded to a taco commercial.

"… You know, the moon's rising doesn't really correlate with the transition between day and night," Arthur murmured. "If you look closely, you can see it during the day. Its schedule is different from the Earth's rotations."

Al kept his eyes on the slow-motion shots of tacos and burritos spinning under a filter that'd make a soap opera editor jealous.

"Just a fun fact from the astronomy department." Arthur's eyes passed between the television and Al.

Al's only response to outside stimulus was his eyes widening ever so slightly when he heard the long, long lists of side-effects the new advertised medicine had.

Arthur felt Al's interest plummet, and his stomach stirred with the need to prove himself astonishing. "You know time travel is conceivably possible. Uncontrollable. Dangerous. Theoretical. But maybe possible."

"Did the stars tell you that?"

"Wh… _No,_ that's astrology."

Al glanced to Arthur with a sly smile and a lifted brow.

"…Joke. Right."

Al nodded, and his gaze fell back on the television. A merely sketched out cartoon character hopped on screen to quickly relay the dangers of smoking. Al felt his taste buds beg for the pack of cigarettes he had stashed away in his pillowcase. In the best effort to distract himself (and to avoid Matt's annoyance upon being interrupted a second time), Al started up the conversation again, "Are you always there when he wakes up?"

"Hm?" Arthur had allowed himself to be lulled into the white noise of commercials.

"You and your roommate. Whenever he wakes up after a sex night, are you in bed?"

Al heard Arthur huff. He nodded, but was thoroughly displeased with the anger he felt when he thought of his roommate booting him from his own room at every possible opportunity.

Al pulled his arms from the couch's back and spread out his blanket over Arthur's legs as well as his own. "Then we'll give him a scare. The common area doesn't close, so we can stay out here for the night."

"Won't you want to go back to your dorm?"

Al shrugged and thumbed at the door that had opened previously. "I'm right in there with Matt. If he's worried, he can just open the door. 'Sides. I sleep on this couch all the time. According to you, I own it."

Arthur gave Al a sheepish smile. "…I really am sorry for yelling at you."

"I know. I'm just giving you a hard time. Not 'cause I hate you or anything," Al assured him. His thumb brushed against the back of Arthur's neck. "But I mean if you're all broken up about it, you could help me out with astronomy. Or something. 'Course I'd have to give you my number so you can send me all my test answers."

"Mm, am I being bullied into being your cheat sheet?"

"Yup. This is bullying. Hand over your phone or the TV's going off."

Arthur clicked his tongue and with a brief roll of his eyes, he pulled out his phone. "Number?"

Al laughed softly and then rattled off his number. Arthur's thumb fled around his touchscreen as he entered it in. "And the name's Al Jones."

"No, it isn't."

"Uh, yeah, it is."

"No, that's too close to Alfred's. I'll get you two mixed up." Arthur muttered as he erased the name he'd typed in. "How do you feel about 'prick' or 'Poe?' Or 'Nostradamus?'"

"Holy shit. No. How about Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy? Totally not cringy and will last forever."

Arthur's thumb tapped away at his phone as he held back snickers.

"Wait, what're you writing? Hey. He— No, don't you shake your head—" Al switched his position and began climbing over Arthur to try and read the phone which Arthur kept holding farther and farther away. "Hey— _Arthur,_ don't you fucking have me as Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy in your phone! Holy fuck—"

Half of Arthur's body strained over the side of the couch as he held his phone out as far as he could. "No, Al!" He allowed himself to laugh at the thought of keeping his new acquaintance in his phone under his chosen title. " _Matt!_ Matt, help! Al's heavy!"

The dorm door labeled 419 swung open in front of them. Both Al and Arthur froze. Matt eyed Arthur's phone before snatching it out of Arthur's hand. The room sucked Matt and Arthur's phone back inside, and the door shut with the 'click' of a lock.

Arthur's throat croaked as he realized his phone had essentially been stolen.

"Guess it's bed time," Al hummed, unbothered. He reached over Arthur and clicked the common area's light off. He settled back onto his side of the couch and yanked the blanket up to his shoulders, giving Arthur only a few feet of blanket. "You'll get your phone back, and I'll get my room key tomorrow morning."

The kittens appeared on the television again, and Arthur watched them trip and scramble over each other as Al settled quickly into slumber. Al didn't seem to be the most polite friend Arthur could've made, but he seemed honest enough—and much less likely to hang a sock on the dorm door with Arthur trapped outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Half Baked

Chapter 2

A pair of jeans smacked the back of Arthur's head, nearly knocking Arthur's desk lamp down in the abyss between his desk and bed. Arthur let out a frustrated hiss, "Alfred, what's your problem?!" He yanked the jeans from his head and threw it back onto Alfred's bed with the rest of his roommate's laundry.

"Problem?" Alfred asked, attempting to sound astounded by the possibility. "No, no, why would _I_ have a problem with the best roommate in the world? I mean. Just 'cause you _didn't come back_ last night doesn't mean that I got a problem." He dunked his shirts and pants one by one into his laundry hamper so he wouldn't have to rewash clean clothes.

Arthur spoke with venom coating his words, "I didn't come back last night because there was a sock on the door which _usually_ means that you're fucking some cheerleader." He turned back to his agenda to try and remember the assignments he'd been given; checking the syllabus would mean defeat.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with giving a nice girl a good, consensual time."

"Wait, it's all consensual?" Alfred whipped one of his gym shirts at the back of Arthur's head with a snap. "Ow, that hurts! Stop it! It was just a stupid joke!"

"Yeah, it was stupid," Alfred growled. "I'm not an asshole that'd hurt someone like that." He took a moment for the mood to calm down as he dropped the gym shirt in his hamper. "And you're not an asshole that'd joke about something like that. What the hell?"

"Just ignore it," Arthur muttered. "I know…you're not like that." He paused. "But you are a jerk."

"Thanks, dickweed."

Another one of Alfred's shirts landed on Arthur's head—at least this one was dropped rather than utilized as a locker room fighting mechanic. Before the smell could invade his senses, Arthur pulled it off his head and tossed it back at Alfred. "What are you so angry about? I come back here after our morning class and you freak out."

"You _skipped_ astronomy." Alfred focused on shifting around his dirty laundry, purposefully prolonging the process so he could use the time to iron out his problems with Arthur. "You have never missed a class in your life. You weren't home when I woke up this morning. What do you think I thought?" Alfred glanced at Arthur with worry in his eyes.

"… Well… I wouldn't have had to skip if you weren't so inconsiderate."

"Inconsiderate? When have I ever been inconsiderate?"

"You've _always_ been inconsiderate," Arthur stated as he turned in his chair to stare Alfred down. "You think I want sex happening in here? You think I'm okay with being kicked out of my own dorm in the early hours?"

"You stay up until 4 anyway—and if I went over to their place, I gotta worry about carrying my stuff with me—good condoms, lube…etcetera. And I'd boot her roommate out. I'd rather just have you mad at me than be really fucking rude to a lot of people."

Arthur huffed. "Does it have to be so frequent? And so late? Why can't you two just fuck and part ways while I'm at dinner? I'm there for a good hour!"

"One word: foreplay. Good sex has good foreplay. And good foreplay takes time. 'Sides, I'm not gonna be the asshole that treats a great girl like she's just a hole. Damn it, Arthur. What's gotten into you?" Alfred placed the last of his dirty laundry in his hamper and leaned against his bed to meet Arthur's eyes. "You're seriously being a dick. It's not like you."

Arthur leaned on the back of his chair with a groan. "I'm sick of getting kicked out for a long time. I can't study anywhere but here past midnight. Can't you at least send them home by 1 every time it happens?"

Alfred dragged out his annoyed groan as he thought about the compromise. Before he was able to say 'Yes, of course, that would be lovely,' Arthur's phone buzzed beside his agenda. Alfred stared at Arthur's phone as his roommate picked it up, read whatever text message he got, and laughed to himself.

"… Did 'Mum' say somethin' funny?"

"It's not Mum," Arthur answered without giving much thought. He bit his bottom lip, and his thumbs padded away on his phone's screen.

Alfred focused on the way Arthur's teeth seized his bottom lip and at the way a corner of his mouth curled towards one of Arthur's dimples. "… Holy shit."

"What?" Arthur glanced to Alfred, and he lost his rare grin. When Alfred didn't answer, Arthur's tone of voice wavered between confusion and panic, "What is it?"

"You're flirting."

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked back down at his phone to type out a response. Alfred watched him intently, and when Arthur did draw his bottom lip back under his teeth, Alfred smacked the bedpost beside his roommate, startling Arthur out of his thought process.

"There! There, you're flirting!"

Arthur paused and gave Alfred a glare. "I'm not flirting. You're reading too much into this."

"Okay, okay, you're not texting 'Mum,' you're not texting me, and you never text your brothers without looking like you're sitting on a cactus—"

"Alfred—!"

"So you're texting someone new, and you're makin' that face. That face you make when you flirt. Remember? Here, wait." Alfred gave Arthur a dismissive wave as he got into what he thought Arthur's character was. He thought of the girls he flirted with and how some of them bit their bottom lip when the mood called for it…and he did his best to imitate it. "Like that."

Arthur only stared with a slight horror and disgust. "Oh my God."

"No, no, that's what you look like. Promise. Hell, ever since middle school you looked like that. Remember?"

"Oh. My God. Don't talk to me." Arthur pressed an elbow into his desk and used his hand to prop up his head. His thumb stabbed at his phone's screen.

"C'mon, you know. When you gave me that cute note?"

Arthur's arm fell on his agenda, and he tried his best to stare directly into Alfred's soul. "And you laughed in my face?" He lifted an eyebrow, daring Alfred to dig up the heavily buried memory.

Alfred's slight amusement and drive to prove himself right died in his chest. "…Yeah. Yeah, that. I, uh. Yeah, I remember that."

Arthur tore his eyes away from Alfred and deleted his response before retyping it and sending it. He pocketed his phone, room key, and student I.D.

"Arthur—"

Arthur yanked open their dorm door and hooked his hand around it. "Nope." Arthur stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Half Baked

Chapter 3

Arthur fell onto the common area's couch as he fumed. The sun shined through the wall of windows, and the television's screen was black. The most Arthur heard was someone in 417 playing some muffled music. He pulled his legs up to his chest and glared at the empty seat beside him.

The room seemed off. Without Al hogging the couch and watching whatever stupid thing on the TV, the common area was worthless and empty.

Or at least that's how Arthur perceived it.

"Damn it, Al," Arthur cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone, reading through the couple texts he had shared with Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy. He scoffed as the minutes passed.

Arthur flicked on the TV and flipped through the channels at a lightning fast pace. Anything that could capture his attention would be worth taking his mind off the dingy, sepia-toned memory he'd kept buried six feet below in his subconscious. Cooking shows, house shows, war shows, documentaries, animal studies, cartoons, cartoons for children, cartoons for infants, the school's own channel with a severely compromised audio output— He'd seen each channel about six times until Al finally ran into the common area. The TV channel roulette landed on a show about swamp animals. The accented host explained that an alligator's mouth flap blocked swampy water and whatever else was in it from traveling into the alligator's lungs.

"Finally," Arthur huffed. "I've been waiting here forever."

Al stared at Arthur, annoyed at the lack of chaos. He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. "You've been waiting seven minutes." He looked around the common area. "Hunh. I wonder where the ambulance is at? Was there a car wreck that I must've missed down the hall? Did someone get stabbed? Or…" Al's severely unimpressed gaze landed on Arthur. "A deadly disease? Maybe Overreaction Syndrome?"

Arthur's face scrunched with anger. "You're right. You are less funny the higher the moon gets."

Al lifted his head, temporarily shocked by Arthur's verbal attack. "Hey, I didn't have to come here all the way from south campus. I could've just texted back and said, 'hold on, babe, this final needs my attention' but I'm here."

"They do not have finals in March."

"Ah. Attempted guilt trip: fail on my part." Al pocketed his phone and took out his room key. "So. What the fuck?" He lifted an eyebrow. "What does '911 common room' mean to you?"

Arthur's anger wound down as he thought back on what set him off. "Sorry," he murmured.

"… No, I still don't get it. You wanna…go into more detail?" Al sat on the couch's arm.

"It's—" Arthur forced out a rushed sigh, "—I just hate Alfred. I just. I hate him." He looked to Al with frustration embedded in his green eyes. "… He's… We've been friends for years, and I used to not hate him."

"What, like ten minutes ago?"

"No— I mean… I… I liked him." Arthur gulped. "So… So I spent time with him, and he spent time with me. We thought it'd be a good idea to room together."

Al visibly winced and sucked in a hiss of air, knowing well what it meant to room with a friend.

"Well— There've been sleepovers, and they all worked out fine. It's just. He brought up something from a long time ago while we were arguing just now, and it really rubbed me the wrong way." Arthur crossed his arms over his knees and planted his chin to his arms. He watched the TV host sneak towards different swamp animals.

"… I guess it rubbed ya enough to leave your books behind, Study Bug."

"… Yeah."

Al paused and pulled out his phone. He clicked away at the buttons, entering Arthur's new nick name before saving it and flipping his phone shut. "So was he just a dick?" Al grinned. "Did he call you a nerd?"

"Well, no, we didn't fall into a 90's high school movie. He accused me of flirting and tried to prove it by bringing up something painful."

Al's eyes widened ever so slightly before a languid smile appeared on his face, and he sunk down onto a couch cushion beside Arthur. "I think I'm piecing this together. When you flirt, you yell at people?"

Arthur sent Al an annoyed frown.

"I'm just trying to figure it out. So you were flirting with your buddy. Gay."

"Oh, my God." Arthur dropped his legs to the floor.

Al clutched Arthur's sleeve. "Hang on. It was just a joke. I don't really run in a straight line either." He released his hold to give him the choice to either run or stay.

Arthur leaned back against the couch and pulled his legs up to his chest again. He sighed heavily, but he lowered his voice when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. "I was flirting, and he brought up something painful. And for that, I'm angry at him. I was already angry at him for—"

"Arthur, you're never in here." Alfred's footsteps stopped beside the couch, and he glanced between Al and Arthur as he caught his breath. "What?"

Arthur did his best to sink down into the couch further to possibly disappear into a different plane of existence. He mostly mumbled, "Why are you out of breath?"

"I just climbed the stairs in like two seconds. The elevator's out or something."

Arthur sent Al a confused look. Al chose to suck on the inside of his cheek and focus intently on the baby wipes commercial.

"…Alright. What are you doing here?" Arthur gave his attention to Alfred. "I thought I told you not to talk to me."

Al's head fell back against the couch, and he watched with amusement in his eyes as Alfred tried to explain himself.

"We live in the same room. I'm gonna talk to you," Alfred stated, not wanting to leave their friction unaddressed. "I'll…try and get any girl out by 1, and I'm…" He sighed. "I'm sorry for bringing…'that'…up."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow, clearly not finished with the battle of arguments, but he'd let Alfred rest for now. "…Fine. Let's go back to denying that 'that' ever happened."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah." A relieved smile rested on his face. "Sounds good."

Al glanced between Arthur and Alfred before extending his hand out to Alfred. "Hey. I'm Arthur's life coach. The name's Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy."

Arthur's lips tugged into a smile, and he gave Al's shoulder a light smack. "Shut up. You're not my life coach."

"You know what? You're right. You're two weeks behind on your payment. Jesus." Al clicked his tongue and shook his head. "He's _really_ bad about paying me. Maybe you should have control of his wallet."

Alfred stood still, highly wary of the fast-talker in front of him. Arthur's bottom lip was tucked in his teeth. Alfred's eyes rested on Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy, and he gripped his hand, giving it a firm, bone-breaking shake.

Al pulled his hand away. "Eesh. Careful, Mongo, you'll rip off my arm."

"What's Mongo?" Arthur asked before propping his jaw up on his knee.

"He's a strong guy in a Mel Brooks thing." Al leaned back against the couch and hooked an arm around Arthur. When Arthur gave him a shrug, Al's eyes widened. "You don't know Mel Brooks? Okay, when Matt goes to his night class, you meet me here, and we'll watch all of his stuff."

"How long is Matt's night class?"

"It's like hella long. Like." Al's tongue clicked as he thought. "Like five hours. It's a lab thing. He has to stare at a computer forever."

"That really sounds awful," Arthur murmured. "Oh— I'll see you after a while, Alfred."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. "You will? You're not gonna stay out here and skip class again?"

Arthur nodded emphatically. "Yes. I can't skip tomorrow. I have four classes." He paused. "You…should probably get back to your laundry before someone puts aside your wet things mid-cycle so they can wash their own."

Annoyance clung to Alfred's body. "God. Right. Fucking hate it when people do that." He gave Arthur a wave as he headed back for the staircase.

Arthur waited until he heard the staircase door slam. "So what did you do to break the elevator?"

"Duct tape."

"Ah."


	4. Chapter 4

Half Baked

Chapter 4

Arthur had spread the entirety of his backpack across the dining hall table. He'd managed to snag a booth just before the dinner rush. Let Alfred have his ten hours he needed to set up sex and have fun with it; Arthur had much more of an interest in forcing Al to consume an actual meal. Or at least he would if Al would show up.

Arthur—who had cleverly picked the perfect position next to the entrance—watched the students at the far end of the dining hall who took up trays, plates, and bowls to fill with the somewhat adequate dining hall food.

After their Mel Brooks marathon the weekend before, Al had let it slip that his main sources of food were boxes of various store brand cereals. Well— Arthur had been the one to ask about the cereal boxes stuffed into a bin like Tetris pieces. Since the freshmen living in the Freshmen Dorm building were required to have access to the Freshman Dorm dining hall, Arthur would be damned if he didn't help Al utilize all of his resources.

That is if he would ever fucking make it into the dining hall.

Arthur's eyes read the same paragraph in his psychology textbook about seven times before he realized that he wouldn't understand what it said until Al was sitting across from him. With a frustrated sigh, Arthur pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he selected Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy. He stared at Al's number. He'd never really called him before. Hell, they only knew each other for a couple weeks. Wouldn't it be weird to just call a sort-of stranger?

His thumb hovered over Al's ten digit number, until his phone decided he meant to select it (Arthur would never admit to accidentally selecting it on his own). Arthur's heart thundered beneath his ribs as he jammed his forefinger against the red square to hang up. Curses slipped out between his lips as his phone took its own damn time rejecting its attempted call. Arthur let out a sigh of relief once his phone reluctantly hung up. He set it down on his psychology textbook and rubbed his eyes before looking out the window beside him.

College students walked on their way home from classes. A couple of them darted across the street once they figured it was clear of oncoming traffic. One great thing about going to school in the city, Arthur would admit, was the never-ending stream of movement. If you were observant, staring out the window for hours was always fun.

Arthur's phone buzzed to life, effectively startling the ever-living daylights out of him. He stared at it as he processed the fact that Dark Demon Lord Al: Ruler of the Sexy was calling him back. His forefinger tapped against his psychology book before he placed it against the green phone button and dragging it across his phone's screen, picking up the call.

"Hey, Study Bug," Al's voice hummed out of Arthur's phone. "You there?"

Arthur placed his phone against his ear. "Yes, Al. Sorry. I… I'm…"

"C'mon, more words. We'll never write the next great American novel with just 'sorry. I. I'm.' But it's risky. I like it."

Arthur felt his lips tug into a smile. "I'm in the dining hall. I've saved us a booth."

"Awesome. I'll be there in a sec. I'm stuck on a tightrope thousands of miles in the sky. No big deal."

"Thousands?" Arthur lifted an eyebrow. "And you're not scared?"

"Can't be scared of heights if I can't see the ground, right?"

"Wrong."

"Eh, well. Whatever. The light's changing. I'll be there in…" Sounds of fingers manhandling Al's phone temporarily muffled any speech Al hoped to convey. "Like a minute. Keep my balanced meal warm for me, k?"

"Okay." Arthur pulled his phone from his ear to see that Al had hung up. He set his phone down on the paragraph that might as well have been written in Latin and watched the students outside. A couple dashed across the street, narrowly avoiding death. Their bodies shook with their wheezes and laughter, both terrified and exhilarated.

Arthur felt a frown dig into his cheeks at the sight. He determined that he'd never be so stupid as to risk death by jaywalking. Didn't mean he'd stop doing it, though.

A part of him thought a car had crashed clean into the dining hall beside him when Al let out a groan fit for a rebellious teenager in a shitty high school parody and collapsed on the booth's seat across from him.

Once Arthur's heartbeat slowed down, he lifted an eyebrow at Al's behavior. "Again, please. I'm still alive."

Al stared before his blank face broke into a brief laugh. He sat up, leaving his backpack against the window as he went. "Hey, Study Bug. Rough day?"

Arthur's annoyance died at the foot of Al's calm and playful demeanor. "No. Just busy," he groaned to convey the feeling of having four classes back to back. "It wouldn't be so awful if I had a lunch break, but that'd eat into my evening."

"You haven't eaten since this morning?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Holy shit. Okay. I'm just gonna look past your super-human ability to run on fucking nothing. I'll get us food. So pizza and beer?"

"They don't have beer here."

"Damn. The bastards."

A snicker snuck out of Arthur, and he worked to keep his grin at bay. "Get something healthy."

"In a dining hall? For college students?"

"Right. Get ramen. That's it. Nothing else. And a couple cups filled to the brim with energy drinks."

Al gave Arthur a firm nod before setting off on his task of balancing meals. Arthur propped his head up with a hand, and his eyes fell back down to his textbook. His fingers lazily pushed his phone aside so he could read that damn paragraph. Just one paragraph then he would relax.

Or…

Maybe two…

Or three…

Ah, he'll just get done whatever he could before Al came back.

Al smacked down their plates on the table, and Arthur had to swallow down his heart again. "Hey, no studying. It's dinnertime. Remember? Put the book away—by order of your life coach."

"Mm, shouldn't I be studying to do well in school?" Arthur asked as he closed his book and slid it aside.

"Yeah, Mr. I-Was-In-School-For-Five-Hours-And-Forty-Minutes-Straight, studying's great, but you need a break."

"High schoolers have to do eight-hour school days."

"Okay, well, high school is awful, and you can't use a high school kid's schedule to prove you met your mental health needs."

Arthur's smile settled on his face before he looked down to see the dinner that Al had chosen for him. "…Al, there's literally nothing on my plate but pizza." He glanced at his translucent drink and took a sip, noting that at least Al had the sense to provide water instead of anything drastically unhealthy.

"What, like I'm not going to raid the pizza buffet? They have like six different pizzas. You have to try all the meat ones and tell me about them. Go."

Arthur looked to Al's plate to see only plain cheese pizza and a couple other slices with varied vegetables. He shrugged before picking up a slice of what may have been sausage pizza and took a bite. He chewed once, then twice, and then forced himself to swallow.

"Well?"

"Stone cold."

Al clicked his tongue. "I had my suspicions when they pulled it out of the dig site."

"Oh, my God."

"What? I have to fill a joke quota. I can't have you complaining to my higher ups that I'm not a good life coach. Every life has to have humor in it."

Arthur's head shook briefly. "… What if these are all stone cold?" He took a bite of a piece a pizza which looked to have a more brownish sauce. "… Barbecue chicken. Still cold."

Al picked up his plain cheese and took a bite. "Well, it's pretty good." He swallowed. "But they probably replace the cheese pizza a lot."

"What are we going to do?"

"About what?"

"The cold slices. We can't just throw them away in front of the cooks. That's so rude."

"Well, they can't spit in _everyone's_ food. You'll probably be alright for future suppers."

"Al."

Al gave Arthur a shrug before his smile turned cocky. "Hey, look. It's Mongo."

"That's mean," Arthur muttered, now fully understanding the reference. He barely had enough time to turn his head before he saw Alfred stop his walk to stand beside their booth. "Alfred, what are you doing down here?" He eyed the cute blonde standing by him and the way she had no doubt pulled her hair into a messy bun earlier that morning. Messy hair for the sake of cuteness—Alfred's kryptonite.

"Ice cream. Pretty much," Alfred stated. "We were going to watch a movie while eating ice cream cones."

"Oh, gonna make a sundae?" Al asked, his eyebrow lifting with amusement.

"They only have a few flavors and some chocolate syrup." Alfred sighed with disappointment. "Wish they had more than four."

"At least they change 'em out every week for new flavors." Al relaxed against the booth's back. "New flavors every week—it's pretty awesome. It's cool how they're all really specific. Blueberry birthday cake, strawberry chocolate cheesecake, dark chocolate mint, lemon raspberry swirl—I like the ones with chunks. They got more personality. I guess you're kind of an ice cream connoisseur, Alfred."

"…I guess."

"I thought you said you never come down to the dining hall, Al," Arthur stated with a definitive edge to his voice.

Al's gaze softened, and he put on a smile—an offer of peace—but he didn't take his eyes off Alfred. "Matt's an ice cream connoisseur, too."

The silence hung around the four's necks, effectively choking them, although Al wore his more proudly than Arthur, Alfred, or the girl standing by Alfred. Arthur watched at how the girl's candy-colored clips reflected the dining hall's harsh lights and at how her shiny pink lips were likely coated with a berry-flavored gloss—maybe raspberry.

"Um," The girl by Alfred's side decided to try and wave away the feeling of war between Alfred and Al by speaking up, "Alfie, we don't have a lot of time. There's only a few minutes until 8:30, and we have to check the channel again."

"… Yeah, you're right." Alfred offered the girl a beaming smile. "We should grab those cones and go. See ya, Arthur."

"Don't do it on my bed."

Alfred looked back to Arthur. "What?"

"I said. Don't do it on my bed." Arthur paused, and his tone softened ever so slightly, "… I don't want ice cream or cone crumbs on my bed."

The girl took in a breath of relief. "Oh, sure! Sorry— Sure, we'll definitely leave your bed alone. Have a good meal." She gave Arthur a friendly wave before tugging Alfred towards the food.

Arthur watched them, unimpressed and highly forgetful of the company that sat in front of him.

Al watched him, annoyed and highly driven to make his Study Bug think about only happy things. "Sorry," he spoke a little louder than necessary to snatch Arthur's attention away, "about that whole 'fuck you' thing."

Arthur's eyes shot back to Al, forcing him to refocus and reread the atmosphere. "Oh— I don't remember you saying 'fuck you.'"

"I said 'fuck you.' Not to you, of course." Al gulped down some water. "Unless you like that kinda thing. Then fuck you."

A laugh that mimicked more of a huff forced its way out of Arthur. "Is this that part of life where a joke needs to happen? So you can meet your quota and make me happy so I don't complain to your higher ups?"

Al shrugged and tilted his head to the side. His eyes crossed for all of a few seconds to yank Arthur into a state of goofiness.

Arthur's smile tentatively returned. He pressed his cup to his lips and sipped his cold water as his teeth idly tapped the cup's rim.

Alfred and the girl with him passed by the two with ice cream cones in hand and too engrossed in each other's conversation to spare acknowledgment for Arthur and Al.

Arthur's eyes drifted out the window at the thinning stream of college kids. He set his cup down against the table and rested his hand beside it. "…Do you really want to write the next great American novel? Or was that a joke?"

Al glanced outside as well. A couple students passed their window. Al rested his hand over Arthur's, effectively seizing Arthur's gaze. "It was definitely a joke."

Almost cautiously, Arthur's bottom lip tucked under his teeth, and they each stared out at the students risking their lives through the fine art of jaywalking.


	5. Chapter 5

Half Baked

Chapter 5

Arthur pried himself away from the common area after giving Al a good night hug which Al had turned into a trap to seize Arthur in his warm blanket. Arthur waved as he skirted the couch to escape the comforting atmosphere.

"Hey," Al called after Arthur, "Study Bug, don't forget to give 'Alfie' a big kiss for me when you get back. But like. Not a good kiss. A really, really shitty kiss. Like. A really war-like kiss. Just eat him."

"Alright!" Arthur called back before turning a corner, feeling the red in his cheeks burn. Al certainly had a way with being invasive. Luckily, it seemed like Al's nefarious skills were used for good intentions rather than bad ones. Arthur's trek back to his room was brief, but thankfully quiet. He didn't want to stop watching TV with Al, but when the infomercials started playing, he had to call it a night. His eyes could hardly stay open as he unlocked his dorm door and gripped the (sock-less) door knob.

Trying to take on the form of a mouse, Arthur inched open the door, slipped inside, and closed the door with as little noise as possible. After locking their dorm door, Arthur opened the bathroom door, flooding light into the tiny dorm room.

Alfred shifted in his covers, and his eyes peered open. "Arthur…?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes to try and perfect his vision. "Is that you?"

"Mhm," Arthur hummed and decided to leave the door open as he brushed his teeth. He heard Alfred fumble a bit with his cellphone strap, and a soft click broke up the steady sound of Arthur's toothbrush doing its job.

"Holy shit. It's five. What. What are you doing here awake at five? Arthur. Fucking. _Arthur._ "

Arthur waved his arm back at Alfred in a silent attempt to get him to drop whatever subject he was going to bring up.

"You were—" A yawn interrupted Alfred, "—with that Lord Sexy Demon tool… …Are you—" This yawn was more powerful than the last, "—you brushin' your teeth b'cause you sucked him off?"

Arthur coughed, nearly choking on his mouth wash. He slammed the bathroom door closed to finish his routine and to force himself to keep a clean mind.

"Arthur. You. You'll tell me, right? You'd tell me if you did, right?"

Arthur pulled the bathroom door open and clicked off the light. Darkness spilled into the room and embraced its occupants. "No." He stood by his bed and began undressing and tossing his discarded clothes over his desk chair.

Hints of a whine gripped Alfred's tone. "Wait— You'd tell me if you did suck him off or you did suck him off or—?"

Arthur let out a sharp huff. He picked at his shoelaces, and the sharp tugs made their way to Alfred's ears. "I did _not_ suck him off, and I wouldn't tell you if I did." He muttered as his annoyance grew into anger, "You think all gay people just suck each other off to have fun. What fucking bullshit. We're allowed to have fun like you straight people. Just watching TV. Damn it, Alfred, your mind's filthy."

Arthur's shoes thumped against the floor as Arthur's dark shape shifted with movement. Alfred kept an eye on him, debating on continuing their conversation. Maybe if he continued it, it wouldn't spark into a war. Maybe things could just…work out. Maybe. "…You can't keep coming back here so late."

Arthur huffed with frustration, "I'll be quieter next time."

"No, it's— I meant…that… If you keep staying up so late with him, you're gonna fail your classes. Six classes is insane, and— Finals are coming up in a month. You're…spread too thin as it is. You need t'focus on school. Not boys."

"Having six classes is perfectly normal," Arthur stated before viewing the ambiguous dark shape that he assumed was Alfred's head. "Al's just reminding me that I need a break once in a while. I study all the time. I only really relax with him."

"Holy shit. He's really your life coach. You hired a life coach?"

"No," Arthur huffed and vaulted himself onto his tall bed, "he's just that person that always watched TV in the common room." Arthur's mattress creaked and his covers ground against each other as Arthur settled between them.

"You picked up a random slacker to give you life advice?"

"No," Arthur growled. He turned away from Alfred and curled up in his blankets. "He's just a good friend…" His lips parted ever so slightly as he thought about the dinners he and Al had had since their very first one. They'd made it a tradition for the past few weeks unless one or the other was unavoidably busy. Arthur tucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Is that why I saw you two kissing on the couch? With the Hallmark channel on?"

"We've literally never done that."

" _Yet._ "

Arthur stared at the dark, bland wall in front of him, and he dared to picture it. They'd be mocking the Hallmark channel, of course. All the movies were so predictably cheesy, but sweet… The love interest would sweep the adorably clumsy protagonist off her feet and try to be quirky in one of the most clichéd ways conceivable. Al would speak over the love interest's dialogue in his best attempts to make Arthur laugh. And maybe when the cheesy movie would set the mood for him…

"Arthur," Alfred brought his voice down to a whisper, "are you still awake?"

Alfred shoved Al out of the cute scene Arthur pictured. "No."

"We have t'start thinkin' about next semester. Rooming together." Alfred's covers shifted and his pillow muffled his voice ever so slightly, "We gotta be prepared t'snatch up a good dorm. I was thinkin' the Studios."

"Tomorrow."

"Hm?"

Arthur nuzzled his cheek against his pillow and repeated himself, "We'll talk about it tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

Half Baked

Chapter 6

Arthur stared into his locker at the crappy mirror he'd taped inside it. He stood on his toes so his eyes could reach the mirror. His thick, heavy, book cover-clad textbooks took up half of his (top row) locker. He brushed his fingers through his hair to try and tame his flyaways to no avail. His little heart pounded in his skinny chest, and he gripped the note he'd carefully written in his fist. Thoughts of confessing to Alfred filled his head.

For a year, he'd been pining for his classmate. For a few months, he'd written and re-written his confession. No wording seemed good enough. His writing skills couldn't translate the magnitude of admiration and affection he felt for the great, charming, athletic Freddie Jones. The way his longer-than-necessary hair hung just above his shoulders just like the Cousin It fashion trend called for, the way how he was so passionate about pointless games in gym, the way his forced, booming laughter invaded everyone's ears at whatever crap joke he said—Arthur couldn't help but be in love.

Oh, but those jock types never went for the nerdy ones. Arthur's orientation certainly didn't help. If he failed, then not only would Alfred reject him—things would be awkward! They wouldn't be able to be friends afterwards. He could literally die on the spot. Well— Arthur could wish he could die on the spot.

The dollar store envelope crinkled in his fingers. He stared down at it, and his other hand clutched his books for the next three classes he'd have.

If things worked out, then he and Alfred could be together. They could hang out more. They could do homework together. They could talk about their feelings. They could hold hands. They could maybe even…kiss.

His teeth dug into his bottom lip as a smile grew on his face.

Alfred's booming laughter echoed down the hall and mixed with the other middle schoolers' hurried conversations. There were only seven minutes to a locker break—everyone had to get out their talking and errands immediately if they hoped to make it to their next class.

Arthur's neck all but snapped as he twisted his head to see good old Freddie Jones waving his arms for emphasis as he spoke enthusiastically about the newest superhero movie coming out. The group of guys around him which occupied varying definitions of cool listened intently and offered their own chorus of agreements whenever they felt the need to reaffirm their status as cool.

Blood shot up into Arthur's cheeks as quickly as if someone had shot him with a red paintball. Immediately, he slammed his locker door shut and strode over to Alfred, standing before him and his group. His heart pounded in his ears, and he almost couldn't hear Alfred's curious words. He dug his nails into the crumpled envelope. Black dots began swimming in his vision, and he was sure that his eyes (veins and all) would melt out of his head and run down his cheeks if he stood there for much longer. Blood pumped through his arm as he jabbed it out towards Alfred.

Alfred recoiled, holding an arm up to protect his face. Of course, when he realized Arthur had no intention to punch him, Alfred relaxed and brushed off his brief bit of fear.

"Hey, Art," he hummed with a grin. "What's that?"

His friends gave him playful shoves to look at whatever it was; their curiosity was palpable.

All Arthur did was stare down at the white tile floor. His eyebrows dug into the center of his forehead. His jaw locked so firmly it hurt. The symptoms of hyperventilation were beginning to set in the longer Alfred stared at the note without knowing its contents.

Damn it— Arthur should've never done this! Alfred would turn him down in a heartbeat! Alfred liked girls! How could he have not even given that any thought?! Alfred was crushing on Michelle! He even told Arthur about it! Damn it, damn it, damn it, why'd Arthur have to go through all the trouble and pain of liking someone who'd never return his feelings?!

I'm sorry, Arthur. Is what Arthur would expect Alfred to say. Something along the lines of 'I'm sorry, but I don't like you like that.' He'd try to be sincere about it. He'd try to not hurt Arthur, because they were friends.

Alfred eased the note out of Arthur's firm, sweaty fingers. Arthur's outstretched arm, now having achieved its purpose, shrunk back to lie against Arthur's chest. It was all in Alfred's hands now. Alfred. Kind, thoughtful Alfred. The paper crinkled as Alfred opened it and unfolded the notebook paper.

The most Arthur cared to record during those long, long moments of waiting were the multicolored flecks painted on the white tile. A specific spot looked like a cat. Or…a kitten. A few kittens playing with each other. Maybe.

"Holy crap," a boy beside Alfred was the first to speak up, "Fart Kirkland likes Freddie!" He coughed out a laugh, not believing that the fantastic, popular Freddie Jones would get a love letter from Fart Kirkland.

With that, Arthur's soul left his body.

The few boys around Alfred snickered and outright laughed, making sure to announce to all of the seventh grade hall that Fart Kirkland had a crush on Freddie Jones.

This was it. Arthur's eyes all but melted out of his skull, his careful breaths fell into hyperventilation, and he dared to look up to see Alfred's reaction. All that kept him in that spotlight was the tiny, tiny chance that Alfred would accept his feelings.

Alfred, kind gentle Alfred, was grinning. His eyebrows were drawn to the center of his forehead and something akin to pity and disgust lay nestled in his eyes. "Uh—" he laughed, not at all sure how to react to the news except to follow the status quo.

The other boys surrounding him watched Alfred through their giggles, elated to see Alfred have the chance to hurl some cruelty at Fart Kirkland.

Arthur remained rooted to the spot as his eyes glistened with the promise of tears.

"Look—" Alfred straightened his back and took a step closer to Arthur (who instinctively leaned back), "—I'm not into guys, Fart—" A round of snickers erupted from good, kind Alfred's entourage, "—You're the only guy here that does. Sucks." With a flick of Alfred's wrist, he dropped Arthur's letter to the ground, envelope and all, before stepping around the frozen student and walking on. A couple boys gave a few 'sympathetic' smacks to Arthur's back as they walked by, warning him not to go after every other person in school with a penis.

Arthur gasped in air, taking a tentative step forward before his body seized itself and ran down the hall, stomping on his letter as he went. His tears blurred his gaze as he felt them rushing down his cheeks. He did his best to bury his face in his books. Maybe no one would notice.

He slid past whoever exited the nearest bathroom before hooking the turn and locking himself in one of the stalls. Arthur squatted down, his lower back pressed against the wall to help him keep his balance and his nails digging into his textbooks.

The bell for the start of 6th period rung, and the last set of footsteps ran out of the boy's room.

Squeaks and gasps forced Arthur to concentrate if he wanted to get a full breath of air. Sobs shook his body as he tried his best to hold back his bawls. The only sound to keep him company were the echoes of his cries, and the only feeling other than crippling shame and hurt he felt was the ache in his toes from squatting. He bit his lip to stifle his cries and ended up tasting copper slick. All manners of liquid dripped down his chin—tears, blood, snot. Anything that could run as far away from Arthur's body as possible in the best hopes that it'd ease his pain.

The ache in his toes reached his knees. Blood collected in his thighs. His fingers refused to loosen their grip on his textbooks weighing down his lap. Almost cautiously, he lifted his head and saw his book cover covered with tears, snot, and drops of blood.

He hiccupped.

And another sob welled in his throat.

He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't… He couldn't even keep his textbooks protected. He couldn't stand his ground, couldn't mouth back at Alfred and his band of losers, couldn't swallow his sobs, couldn't write a better note, couldn't speak well with others, couldn't…couldn't fix his hair…

He sniffled.

His flyaways wavered in the soft blow of air from the AC. His cheeks iced over, and the blood clotted. Arthur unhooked a hand from his textbooks and pulled off a sample of toilet paper. Weakly, he blew into it, unsuccessfully attempting to clean his nose.

Couldn't even clean his nose right.

Arthur dropped his used paper in the toilet and rubbed new toilet paper all across his nose and cheeks, rubbing every delicate and soft surface of skin rough and raw. Each one of his used tissues dropped into the toilet beside him.

Footsteps echoed into the short, twisted bathroom hall, and they stopped in front of the stall Arthur squatted in. The stranger's clothes rubbed against his body with his movement. Strands of blonde hair hung from the stranger's head when he bent over to peek under the door.

"Arthur…is that you?"

Arthur glared at his ruined textbook cover, resigned to silence.

"…I can see your shoes…and pants."

"Well, don't look, then." Arthur's hiss was ruined by his cracking voice. Damn it, why couldn't Alfred let Arthur suffer in peace?

Arthur heard Alfred's sigh and his clothes rub again. Alfred gripped the door handle and pulled.

"… You thought I'd forget to lock the door?"

"No, just… Just hoping you didn't."

Arthur sniffled. "I'm not that big of an idiot."

"You're...not an idiot at all."

Arthur rolled his eyes and rested his head against his textbooks. Maybe he could sleep Alfred's presence away.

"…Arthur… Just open the door. Please."

"Just leave me alone," he whispered. It was as if talking caused him physical pain.

"I'm alone, and I can't help you if you're locked in there. Let's just…talk this out."

The shame and pain exponentially grew, forcing Arthur's sobs to return against his will. "Go away," he whispered between broken cries.

Alfred took in a deep breath and let it out. He squatted in front of Arthur's stall door. "…I don't like guys like that."

"Shut up…"

"You gotta listen." Alfred pressed a hand to the bathroom door to balance himself. He whispered, "I like hanging out with you. I like you, Arthur, but…not like how you want me to like you. C'mon. Open the door."

"…No."

Arthur heard Alfred's sigh and then heard Alfred's footsteps stroll out of the bathroom and echo down the seventh grade hall. He sniffled and blew his nose again before dumping the used toilet paper in the toilet.

A locker door slammed.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and then into the bathroom again. Except this time the footsteps were joined with the crinkling of a bag in addition to Alfred's clothes rubbing him as he squatted.

"I'll give you some of my cookies if you come out. I keep 'em in my empty binder. They're a special secret."

Arthur stared down at his ruined book cover. "The Great Freddie Jones wants t'speak with me." His sarcasm fell apart halfway through his sentence, effectively destroying any high ground he had.

"I don't like being called Freddie. Everyone says it. It's stupid."

"Well, I don't like being called Fart!"

Silence filled the bathroom until Alfred's cookie bag crinkled. "…Do you…like Arthur better?" Alfred gasped. "We'll just go by Arthur and Alfred like on the record. Then they can't say anything else 'cause we know Arthur and Alfred are our real names."

"…They'll probably keep calling us Freddie and Fart."

"I'll deck 'em."

"…"

"… Want a cookie?"

Arthur ground the palm of his hand against his eyes and hesitantly unlocked the stall door. Alfred stood up quickly as if his legs were made of springs. Arthur's stall door flew open, sucking the cold air out of Arthur's stall temporarily. Before Arthur had a chance to react, Alfred yanked him into a hug, and before Arthur could get used to the tight hug, Alfred released him and shoved cookies in his mouth. For a moment, he thought Alfred's true goal was to choke him with chocolate chips.

Alfred dropped the bag of cookies on Arthur's ruined book cover, snatched up a heavy amount of toilet paper, and soaked it in the sink's warm water. Arthur choked down the cookies Alfred had shoved in his mouth. Alfred smacked the wad of warm toilet paper into Arthur's face and rubbed vigorously just as his mom taught him. Somewhat.

It's funny, Alfred thinks nowadays, that how whenever _That_ was brought up, Arthur always conveniently forgets about how Alfred had cheered him up afterwards. Whatever.


	7. Chapter 7

Half Baked

Chapter 7

Arthur stared down at his agenda. Each day was filled with the same tasks: finish final papers, study what he'd missed, study for cumulative finals, do laundry, finish group project, edit final papers, prepare PowerPoint, start packing— The list tainted any hope he had of getting any sleep or peace of mind for the next couple weeks.

Classes were inching closer to the executioner's block, and every single freshman had to perform their absolute best if they hoped to pad their GPA or to simply tread water.

Arthur had been confident in his work all semester—highly concerned, treading water, and confident. He remembered the warnings he'd endured from Alfred and his family. A freshman naturally had five classes. Some could only manage four and ensure that they'd do well. Arthur wanted to graduate on time. So he either had to take six or more. Next semester, he'd take seven. Maybe eight for the next. He'd briefly entertained the idea of taking two languages at once for a minor and a double major.

But first he had to compile his group's notes on the nervous system, reference the "Little Albert" experiment, memorize his lines for the group presentation, create an interesting PowerPoint slide with black font on a lighter background, format all works cited in APA—

Arthur closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His eyelids slipped open as he stared at the ceiling. He took in a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and then released it for ten.

Alfred had his own group project. His instructor for English 1102 had structured her class around teamwork as it pertained to literature. As a result, Arthur was currently alone. There was faint music playing across the hall, and the cars at the stoplight outside revved in harmony every so often.

The silence buzzed in Arthur's ears as his assignments clawed at his mind.

Arthur snatched his keys, wallet, and phone off his desk and left the room. He yanked the door closed behind him and locked it before walking as fast as possible to the common area, hooking around right-angled corners as he went. He halted at the common area's entrance.

It was as silent and barren as an elementary school classroom during recess.

No Al, TV off, students studying in their dorms.

Arthur clutched his stomach and leaned against the wall beside him. What he wouldn't do to have Al in his presence right then and there… He sighed heavily. Despite the windows' spring afternoon masterpiece, the empty common area swallowed him. He put all his efforts into stomping his foot to the ground in an attempt to wake himself up and uproot himself from the wall. His eyes fell on the dorm door labeled 419.

Hope filled his lungs, and he shoved himself from the wall, standing in front of 419. His hand opened and closed as his eyes traced the numbers. He sucked in a breath of courage before knocking on the door. First hesitantly and then clearly.

For a moment, no one answered but the creak of a chair. The door swung open, and, as Arthur feared, Matt stood in the doorway, unaware at how fast Arthur's heart was beating. It seemed no matter the mood Matt was in, be it annoyed or nonplussed, he always swung open the door.

"Matt, hi— Is Al in there? I haven't seen him for a few days, and, frankly, I'm not really coping well." He spoke in what he assumed to be a light-hearted lilt rather than his nervous babble. "He can't be in class, can he? We only have a week or so before finals. The professors can't legally throw anything else at us, can they?" Complete and utter shame filled him. How the hell was Al able to deliver such cheesy dialogue without feeling his soul leave his body? Maybe he made peace with it. Or something.

Matt waited until he figured Arthur had finished making somewhat of a fool out of himself. "He's in the dining hall." He watched Arthur with tired eyes.

Arthur's body visibly perked up, and a smile stretched across his face. He hummed a brief, "Thank you, Matt," before turning on his heel and strolling to the staircase. He all but fell down the stairs in his excitement. Why didn't Al say he'd be eating? They had all their meals together. Eh, maybe he just forgot.

Arthur scanned his hand and stepped past the small gate into the dining hall. He looked down the booths, over the tables, and twisted his neck to look into the back nook. But all the seats were either empty or just filled with freshman. They all had one thing in common, however—they were void of Al. Uneasiness settled in him, and he pulled out his phone. Arthur's thumb hovered over Al's phone number momentarily before tapping it. He pressed his phone to his ear and waited.

And waited.

…And waited.

When the voicemail picked up, Arthur frowned. Al's pre-recorded voice told him to leave a name, number, and a message after the beep. "Al," he spoke after he'd heard the beep, "I'm in the dining hall. Matt said you'd be here, but I don't see you." Arthur's eyes scanned the dining hall once more before he frowned and huffed. "If you didn't want to see me, you should've said you were at south campus. You think I wouldn't just go down the stairs to check where you were? It's a two minute walk. You think I'm too lazy to go downstairs? You could've just answered the door yourself and talked to me. And you probably heard my voice anyway. Why didn't you get up and say something? Hell, our rooms are so small, all you'd have to do is lean back away from your desk—"

The beep on Al's end cut Arthur off.

Arthur pulled his phone away from his ear and glared at it. "… Wait—" He called back and waited for the recording message. "… Al, this is Arthur. That last message was mine, too. You could've leaned away from your desk and waved." Arthur walked towards the buffet of food, looking over the stations to see what he might want to eat as he chastised Al with phone messages. "And you know I would've come down here to check. You didn't care? It's like you're calling me stupi—"

"Study Bug?"

Arthur's eyes snapped up to see Al behind the sandwich station. In uniform.

Al gave him a brief wave and a lax smile. "Sorry, did I interrupt ya?"

"N-no. I. I."

Al lifted an eyebrow, but his light smile stayed. "Were you chewin' Alfie out?"

Arthur's stomach twisted with guilt, and he shook his head. "No, I was just. Leaving a message. Is all."

The beep cut Arthur's message off.

A gasp nearly choked Arthur, and he pulled his phone from his ear to see that his call finished up without his consent. "Al— Al, where's your phone?" Panic gripped his voice.

"It's in my pocket. I have it on silent while I'm working. Makes things easier." He let out a brief laugh. "Helps me to keep out of trouble and earn a paycheck. Did your phone die?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, can I use yours?"

"Sure." Al pulled off his plastic gloves and tossed them before slipping his phone out of his pocket. His phone lit up in his hand, seizing the chance to tattle on Arthur. "Oh, you called. Sorry. And you left two messages?" Al lifted his gaze to Arthur once he realized Arthur was indeed chewing someone out, but it wasn't Alfred. He pocketed his phone. "So you're pissed at me. Why?" he asked as he pulled on some new gloves.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I—" He paused and sighed. Al would get to the bottom of it anyhow. It'd be rude to try and lie to him. "I thought you were ignoring me."

"How long have you been trying to get in touch?"

"…Five minutes…"

"Y'know, my ex was kinda impatient, too, when I didn't materialize whenever he wanted me." He glanced at the breads by his station. "So what can I get ya?"

"Sorry?"

"For food. You wasted one of your meals if you're just gonna leave now. Lemme make sure you eat something before you go back to the study cave."

Arthur nodded, his sheepish behavior subsiding ever so slightly. "Sounds good. Whole wheat bread, please."

Al gave Arthur an emphatic nod (he'd clearly had practice pleasing customers) and went right to work on his task. "What'd you want to tell me? Meat?"

"Um. Turkey. Please." Arthur's nails dug into the palms of his hands. "I... I'm really stressed. I have so much to do for my classes; it's awful. I only have a couple weeks to finish everything and study for finals." His voice gradually grew quieter. "And I figured…we could hang out. So I'd be…less stressed."

Al took his time making Arthur's sandwich so he wouldn't have to send him on his way really fast—especially since 'Alfie' had walked in with a few friends of his. If he could keep Arthur's attention long enough, Alfred would grab his ice cream and be on his way. He assumed. "Well, Mr. Six-Classes, it's been a long day. We might have to wait until tomorrow to hang out, though. I have a couple papers, and I'm beat. Cheese?"

Arthur's face fell. "Cheddar. I'm sure the papers can wait, right? They're probably just standard 5-pagers, I'm sure. Those are easy. You can get that done in a couple hours."

Al let out a laugh. "Yeah, if I didn't give a shit about my grades, I could." He finished placing Arthur's cheese of choice. "Papers are kinda hard. Want anything else?"

"For an English major?"

Al lifted an eyebrow. "Not an English major. Do you want any toppings or anything? Any vegetables?"

A cold panic struck Arthur to the core, but the most that showed on his face was just a stunned stillness. "Lettuce. Tomato. And just a small stripe of mustard. Please."

Al looked down at his work, amused. Arthur in his awkward state was always such an amusement—it was cute as anything. "I guess we never talked about it. It's okay. How's Alfie treatin' ya?"

A splash of blush appeared in Arthur's cheeks. "Alfred-? He's… Normal. He's been busy. I guess we've all been busy. He's. Worried that I'm slacking too much." He let out a brief, nervous laugh. "He, um… When I went back to the room one night—when we stayed up until 5—he…" Arthur lowered his voice so others nearby wouldn't hear. "He thought I sucked you off."

Al's eyes widened as he stared down at the sandwich he was making as if it held the secrets to eternal happiness and to all of the universes in existence. He felt his face darkening.

"He seemed kind of worried about it." Arthur adopted a smile, finally feeling somewhat at ease. "I suppose he's just concerned about me getting all my schoolwork done."

"Yeah, that's it," Al murmured, assuming a different reason. He squeezed the thin stripe of mustard out onto Arthur's sandwich. Al peeked up to see Alfred walking over. "Wanna toast this?" Anything to make sure Arthur wasn't alone with Alfred.

"No, it's fine."

"Nah, it's better toasted. Promise."

"It's really alright."

"Try new things. Trust me. Lemme toast it."

Arthur sighed, figuring that Al wouldn't give up. "Okay, toast it, please."

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred called at his roommate before catching up to him, "grabbing a snack before going back to work?" He looked to see what Arthur was getting, but his friendly atmosphere died when he saw Al. "Oh. Didn't know you worked here."

"Yeah," Al flashed him a smile as he painted both sides of Arthur's sandwich with butter, "we can't all be rich star athletes."

The tenseness of the situation smacked Arthur in the face. "…Right. You're done with your meeting, Alfred?"

"Why're you working in the dining hall?" Alfred effectively ignored Arthur's presence entirely as he kept his eyes and questions on Al. "Seems weird. The career services place seems like it'd pay better."

"Maybe he likes being close to his dorm—"

"I like cooking," Al stated as he placed Arthur's sandwich on the toasting press. He pulled the lever, squashing the sandwich, forcing it into the toasting process.

"You're doing quality cooking in the dining hall?"

Arthur smacked the back of his hand against Alfred's abs and raised his voice, "Don't be rude. He's probably just building experience for his resume." He wouldn't be ignored by the two people he spent most of his time with. Absolutely not.

Alfred huffed and glanced away. He bit the inside of his cheek and lifted his chin. "Arthur, did ya look at the first floor rooms for next year?"

"You're rooming together?" Al tore his eyes off the sandwich, and his gaze passed between them.

"I—"

"Yeah, in the Studios. They're kinda like apartments, and they're right in the middle of campus. Best dorm ever. See, there's a shared kitchen and a living room—"

"I know what they look like." Al yanked up the lever, freeing Arthur's sandwich.

"I thought you were poor?" Alfred tilted his head and dunked his hands in his pockets in his strongest attempt to seem unattached to Al's dignity.

"Alright, listen, asshole—"

Arthur snatched up a plate and thrusted it at Al. "Thank you. Thank you for making my sandwich, Al."

Al slowly pulled his glare away from Alfred and then focused on Arthur's empty plate. He picked up the toasted sandwich and placed it on the plate. "Arthur, you might wanna look at those rooms on the 14th floor. They're a long way up, but I know my room's gonna have the best view. Think about the top floor."

"The bottom floor's better," Alfred interjected, giving Al a shrug. "You can get places faster. You don't have to wait ten minutes for the elevator. I know Arthur's all about saving time. Right, Arthur?"

Arthur stared down at his sandwich, at how the bread had turned a golden brown. The intoxicating smell invaded his senses and left him at ease, despite Alfred's prodding. He gave Al a relaxed smile. "I'll give the top floor a look-over. I'm sure you can see the whole city from it. I'll see you tomorrow," he hummed before walking off to collect more dining hall food.

Al and Alfred determined that their almost-brawl would end there as Alfred gravitated back to his group.


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTE:** I've created a tumblr ask blog for Half Baked. The url is halfbakedcrew . If you've got any questions, send them in, and I or the characters will answer! I also post art of some Half Baked scenes (and additional information that may or may not make its way into the story). Check it out!

Half Baked

Chapter 8

"So you can't hang out?" Arthur asked as he slightly tilted his head to the side, not quite believing that Al was actually busy. Well— Not as busy as _him._ No one was as busy as Arthur. Or at least that's what he thought. Six classes, finals on the way, projects due. Yes, he was the busiest freshman in existence.

"Yeah, sorry, Study Bug." Al gave a half-hearted shrug as he leaned against his dorm doorway. "I got work and papers."

"You told me you had papers a few days ago. Haven't you started working on them yet?"

"'Course I have. It's not like they're short answer questions."

"Well…," Arthur hummed, hesitant to create waves, "they're just papers. It's not as if they're research papers, right? All you need are a couple sources. And if they're analyses then isn't it much easier?"

"Writing's hard for me. My shit never turns out good."

"That's why you edit it." Arthur perked up, his body tensing at the thought of spending more time with Al. "I could edit your papers for you! We could sit in the common room and have the TV on for background noise while we work on things. We could help each other."

Al lifted an eyebrow, but Arthur's exuberance softened up his stressed mindset nonetheless. "Sounds cool, but I can't concentrate with other people around me. I end up waiting until the last minute to do my shit. You need to be working on your own stuff, Mr. Six-Classes. You don't have time for editing my crap."

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together as the flickering fear of being a burden welled up within him. "… Sure, right. … But I can get all my stuff done just fine—and have time to just relax and eat dinner with you. And I can help you. You just have to start your writing much earlier. Here, I'll help. I can be with you when you start writing. All you have to do to is write a shitty first sentence. Just. Write _everything._ Write garbage." His body twisted to the side as he attempted to squeeze his way into Al's dorm room.

Al hooked an arm around Arthur and pulled him back into the hall. "Thanks. Really. Hey, look at me." Al held Arthur's chin as he stared into the other's eyes. "I can do my shit on my own. You need to finish all your work _on your own._ Or work in a group. Whatever helps you out best. But I have to work by myself because I get stuff done that way. I'm stressed out so I'm not even good company anyway."

"You're great company," Arthur mumbled. His spirits dampened once he realized Al was absolutely turning down any interaction between them.

"Thanks."

"I just… I don't understand. You take more English classes than other students I know; you should be a great writer. You're an English minor for God's sake."

Al paused as he released Arthur entirely. He took a step back into his dorm to lean against the frame again. "Not an English minor."

"Oh— I'm sorry. It's just. You knew Ezra Pound."

"I took an American English course. He stuck out in my head." Al paused. There was a slight shift in the mood, something that called for deeper analysis—or at least Al thought so. He'd seen Arthur's dependence and anxiety frequently since he'd known him, but both qualities seemed to bloom more and more with all the time they've spent with each other. Maybe now was the right time to peel back the layers of everything Arthur had built up—or everything Al assumed he'd built up. After all, this might be the last time he'd see Arthur until the fall semester.

"Of course, right. I've seen he's rather…disliked," Arthur mumbled on about what little he knew about Ezra Pound.

"Yeah. An elitist jerk. …" Al muttered. Arthur would spend all his time with Alfred between now and September. The noose of jealousy tightened around Al's neck until he forced himself to ignore it. "Y'know, you don't have to…"

Arthur watched Al with tiny spurts of panic threatening to run free behind his eyes. His body remained tense as if preparing for an emotional sucker punch. "…Don't…have to what?"

"…React like that. You look really scared. It's—" he sighed, "—It's just that…no matter what, you're usually all tense. Then when we hang out, I have to loosen you up. But as soon as you see Alfred again, it's like someone sets off a siren, and you're all tense again. What the fuck?"

Arthur chose to stare holes through his shoes. He'd have to hide himself better—create a better shell, a stronger one. Looking scared would only concern Al, and Al clearly had enough to be concerned with. "He's… I just have to be a certain way around him. He's not like you."

Al lifted his chin as realization sunk in. "…You act differently in front of me? Like you're faking?"

"No—" Arthur's eyes shot up to lock with Al's, "—no, no. If I'm faking in front of anyone, it's Alfred. I can only be really comfortable around you. I haven't been—… I haven't been able to be comfortable around Alfred since _that."_

"… 'That'? What's 'that'?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and lowered his voice. " _That,"_ he whispered, "what happened in 7th grade."

Al's eyes slipped closed, and he rubbed them as a sense of silent rage overtook him. Despite the bubbling anger thrumming in his chest, he spoke clearly and in a calm tone so as not to frighten off Arthur. "… Okay… Listen. I really like hanging out with you—"

Arthur's throat evaporated, gravity clawed into his gut, and his eyes felt the pressure of almost-tears. He blinked once then twice in quick succession. He'd be damned if he lost his composure now.

"—I like you. But that crap with Alfred… It was 7th grade. That was like six years ago. Didn't whatever happen end way back then?"

"Honestly," Arthur's throat dared to croak ever so slightly, "it never even started."

Well, here went nothing. Al mentally let all his worries slide right off his back in favor of digging the metaphorical bullet out of Arthur's bruised heart. "Let's say you're not super demanding—"

"Wh—"

"You're still obsessing over that crap. You don't have to." Al kept up his talking, not allowing Arthur to get in a word that'll throw him off track. "Fuck, Arthur, you're so wrapped up in him you can't see how fucked up he's made you."

"Shut up! He hasn't made me in any way!"

"Bullshit. I've known you for a while, you know I'm gay, too, and you're fucking oblivious. I've hit on you _so much_ but you can't get that asshole out of your head long enough to pick up on it."

"Oh, you've been hitting on me? Well, _sorry_ for not picking up on every one of your cues—"

"You pick up on all _his_ cues!"

"I have to!" Arthur dug his palm against his eyes to get rid of any of the wet weakness that might've seeped through. "I have to be able to read his moods so I don't burden him or—or make him feel uncomfortable." Sarcasm began to drench his words, "Besides, I'm too demanding for you, right?"

Al drew in a sigh to try and work as the calming agent in the situation. "I like doing stuff for you. But you can't yell at me when you expect me to drop everything and pat your head when you stub your toe. I'm busy. I work. I have to give my shit more time because we're not all multitasking geniuses like you."

A tiny flicker in Arthur panicked as the rest of him began carefully reassembling his shell. The flicker seemed to scream out, to beg for Al's attention.

"I worry about you," Al stated, trying to remotely get back on track. "Anyone could take you down. Don't think I hate you or anything like that, okay? I like you. I wanna…" His sentence hung on his tongue. Flirting and suggestive touches were one thing, but outright stating the obvious was…entirely different. What if Arthur thought he was making fun of him…?

The stairwell door opened with a metal screech, and Alfred stepped into the hall with his laundry bag over his shoulder. His body twisted to the right with the intention of heading towards his dorm, but he halted upon seeing Arthur on the verge of tears and Al looking suspiciously unapologetic. Alfred's eyes shifted between Arthur's and Al's. "What the hell?" He worked to somehow absorb the meaning of the situation, but all he saw was a jerk bullying his roommate. Unafraid of confrontation, Alfred walked towards them, fully prepared to deck Al. "Something wrong here?"

"There is now," Al growled.

Alfred stood by Arthur, watching him. Arthur's body remained as stiff as concrete, but with each passing second of being observed, it began to weaken. "What's wrong, Art?"

Arthur's body shrunk back ever so slightly. He gasped in air, not quite realizing he'd stopped breathing for a few seconds. "S— Just— Nothin—" His gaze darted down to attempt to break the eye contact, and tears fell down his cheeks. Panic struck him; if he couldn't convey that Al didn't do anything wrong, Alfred would get mad. "Al's just tallen'—" Arthur's words fell apart, and rage built in him as he mentally cursed at his body for being so against his goal of clear communication. Damn it, damn it, _damn it._ Arthur squeezed his eyes closed.

"Alright—" Alfred hooked a hand onto Arthur's arm and sent Al a fiery glare, "—you stay the hell away from him. C'mon, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes flew open when Al's hands pressed against his wet cheeks. Arthur stared at Al's collarbone as Al pressed a firm, almost-bruising kiss to Arthur's forehead. "I'll get my shit done early, and you will, too, so we can watch shitty monster movies on the black-and-white channel. 'K?"

Alfred yanked Arthur down the hall. Arthur, with hope filling his eyes, nodded vigorously until he was forced to turn the corner. He managed to stable his footing, and he walked just behind Alfred. He'd let Alfred pull him away this time. It made sense. Alfred just thought Al was hurting him. Arthur would explain it when they got back to their dorm. No problem.


	9. Chapter 9

**NOTE:** I've taken to posting previews (just sketches/pictures of what'll happen in the next chapters) on the ask blog (url: halfbakedcrew) on tumblr. If you want to see Half Baked art, check it out. C:

Half Baked

Chapter 9

Without a word, Alfred sat Arthur down at his desk chair as he tossed his empty laundry bag aside. Arthur rubbed his eyes raw, embarrassed that his body had decided to burst into tears during the confrontation. Alfred yanked the comforter off Arthur's bed and draped it over the other's head and shoulders. Arthur opened his eyes before pulling the comforter back just enough so he could see. Alfred gripped the comforter, pulling the fabric taut around Arthur's body and making sure he was wrapped up.

"Alfred," Arthur managed to croak out.

"Shh."

Arthur closed his mouth and gripped the comforter, keeping it wrapped around him. As Alfred went to his desk, Arthur chose to stare down at the rough carpet floor. He heard the familiar sounds of crinkling paper, and then Alfred returned in view, holding a bag of cookies. Alfred pulled a chocolate chip cookie from the crumpled bag and pressed it to Arthur's lips. It rested there until Arthur's lips opened, allowing the cookie entrance. His tongue hooked the dry underside and pulled it into his mouth.

Their dorm room was silent save for the sound of Arthur's brief crunching.

His tears subsided as he accepted another cookie in his mouth. Arthur swallowed it after a few bites and winced. "Alfred—"

"Shh."

Alfred set the bag aside and pulled a water bottle from their mini fridge. He opened it and placed the bottle's rim to Arthur's crumb-dusted lips. Arthur's lips opened again, and Alfred carefully tilted the bottle so as not to overwhelm his roommate. After a few seconds, he capped the bottle and set it on Arthur's desk. Alfred's thumb brushed against Arthur's stained cheeks.

"You feeling any better?"

"Yes. Thanks."

"I gotta go back down and move a load from the washer to the dryer in a couple minutes. What happened?"

Arthur breathed a heavy sigh, mostly to shake off his body's need to cry at the slightest inconvenience. No wonder Al was frustrated with him. "I want to spend time with him," he murmured as his eyes stared off. "But he's busy. I thought that he was going to say we couldn't be friends anymore."

"Seriously?"

Arthur's fiery eyes snapped up to glare at Alfred. "Yes. Seriously. For a moment, it really seemed like he was going to break off our friendship. And it _hurt."_

"No—" Alfred let out a huff. "I get that. But he's fucking—" His words died on his lips.

"…he's fucking…? Someone?" Arthur felt a twinge of panic spark in the back of his head.

"No. It looked like he liked being friends with you." Annoyance filled Alfred's eyes, and he glared at the trash can by the bathroom door. "He doesn't seem like the type to just toss out friends. Especially, because—" His eyes widened. "Arthur. You didn't… You didn't suck him off, right?"

Arthur leaned back in his desk chair and lifted an eyebrow. "What if I did? What do you care?"

"Arthur! It's important!"

"No! I didn't. We slept together on the couch."

"In the open?!"

"Wh— _No,_ Alfred!" Arthur stood up and walked around Alfred. He tossed his comforter on his bed. "We had on clothes, and we were literally sleeping under a blanket. I haven't done anything like that with him."

"Yet."

"Shut up." Arthur vaulted himself up onto his bed and curled up with his blankets. He faced the bland wall.

Alfred patted Arthur's mattress. "Hey, I'm not done. Don't have sex with him. Maybe breaking off your guys' friendship is the best thing ever for you. Y'know? You could focus on school. You've been ignoring it. You haven't changed your To Do list on your white board for weeks."

"I'm not speaking to you."

"Arthur—"

"Go do your laundry."

Alfred went silent before pulling out his room key and heading out the door. He locked it (as Arthur frequently requested) and headed back to the stairwell. He stopped at the end of the hall, looking left to see door 419 closed and the common room silent. He turned to the right and headed for the stairwell, making sure to bang the door open so that red-headed asshole would hear him and know that he was being watched.

Each time Alfred's feet fell against a concrete stair, he imagined knocking on door 419 and tearing Arthur's precious best friend a new hole. He should've kept a closer eye on what they were doing—at how often Arthur went to hang out with him. Al was a classic player; it wasn't hard to spot one. Alfred knew the ins and outs of the Game.

His shoulder smacked against the first floor's door, effectively sending a shockwave of pain throughout his body. Alfred pushed the metal bar with a shivering hand and eased the door open before walking through as he rubbed his shoulder. He muttered curses under his breath and stepped into the Freshman Hall laundry room.

If Alfred was forced to describe it, he'd say it was a shoebox of a room lined with washers and dryers on either side. The two sections were divided, however, with a lone, worn couch between them. Sometimes students sat there with their laptops perched on their knees so they could finish that paper that was due in ten minutes. Other students curled up against the arm and watched gameplay videos on YouTube while they kept a watchful eye on their clothes. Alfred preferred to run up and down the stairs. It was a convenient workout, and he'd have to do it anyway just in case the elevator was stuck again. But like usual, there wasn't a soul in the room—just washers swishing as some dryers sounded like pounding drums.

Alfred stood in front of the couple washers he had occupied and watched as the "05" dropped to a "04." Just one minute left, he thought as he stepped backwards and flopped down on the empty couch. He stared off at the window into the washing machine to see the fluids disappearing and his clothes spinning. It sort of reminded him of Arthur and how he would get himself worked up for no reason. Now that he thought about it… Arthur was getting himself worked up less. Or he was hiding it.

Alfred shook his head.

Arthur wouldn't hide his feelings; he just burst into tears. He wasn't the type to lie. He _couldn't_ lie, even. Arthur was always awful at it. He was so sensitive. And gullible. Or hopeful?

Alfred's eyebrows knitted together at the thought as the dryers let out a constant thunder.

Alfred's phone hummed in his pocket. It was about time Arthur apologized for being curt. He pulled out his phone and checked the new text.

"Oh."

It was just the girl from Astronomy. He'd been trying to hook up with her for a few weeks now; it was taking forever, but Alfred would wait for her. Well— He wouldn't force himself on her. His thumb tapped against the side of his phone as he read the text.

"Ice cream and a movie?" With a winking and kissing emote.

Alfred grinned and thought about his response—something along the lines of 'hell yeah'—but he paused.

Arthur was using the dorm right now, and since Al was busy doing whatever-the-fuck, Arthur would only spend like a half hour in the dining hall. Well… Arthur could suck it up. He wasn't a kid. He was used to this anyway.

A dryer clattered.

Alfred looked in the general direction of the noise and decided it was probably just a zipper. His eyes fell back to his phone. Arthur hadn't really been out of the dorm very often since finals were getting closer. It'd be better for him to get out of the dorm and have a full meal. And some ice cream. Ice cream could cheer him up. Yeah. Yeah, what was Alfred getting all worked up about anyway? Kicking Arthur out of the dorm would be the best thing for him. No doubt. Besides, a little kicking him out wouldn't hurt him. Maybe he deserved it.

Alfred began typing his 'hell yeah,' but he didn't send it. Not yet.

He'd been sort of…mean to Arthur this semester. A little. Arthur wasn't the type to go stay in another person's dorm to get hot and heavy, so kicking him out almost every night was kinda like…forcing a dog to stay outside even when it was cold. But Arthur deserved it, right? He'd been ignoring Alfred for the past couple months anyway. Arthur would see how Alfred felt when he saw the sock on the door. Arthur would apologize for ignoring him and for being abrasive.

The zipper smacked against the dryer's insides as if it were possessed.

"… Why should I care?" Alfred murmured.

Yeah, Arthur was getting less and less dependent on him, and he seemed less likely to freak out, so…wasn't that good?

"I hang out with girls all the time," he thought out loud.

So why should he be allowed to sex up all the girls in school while Arthur wasn't allowed to have just one friend that wasn't him?

"It's different. It's just sex." It wasn't like he was friends with all those girls. They all knew he wanted to hook up and let that be it, and they only accepted if they were okay with that.

Arthur and Al, on the other hand…

They were _close._

Alfred hadn't been that close to Arthur—hadn't made Arthur smile like that or bite his lip in years. And now Al was doing it like five times a day! Alfred wasn't stupid; he knew what that meant.

Alfred's phone case whined in his grip.

But why the fuck did he care?

Maybe because Al was clearly a dangerous, smooth-talking player. He'd been working on Arthur for _months_ , and it was only a matter of time until he got what he wanted; Arthur was so trusting. The thought of Arthur giving up his virginity to Al fueled a rage in Alfred he wasn't familiar with. Arthur would yell at him, claim that Alfred didn't know the first thing about his feelings about any situation, and demand that Alfred apologize to him and Al for assuming the worst.

The zipper banged against the dryer's insides again.

If Arthur wasn't going to have sex with Al, then Al would leave Arthur. Hurt. Alone. Destroyed. Arthur would be a mess, and no amount of cookies or water would fix him.

Idiot. As if cookies, water, and being wrapped in a blanket was enough to cure heartbreak.

But what if Al…wasn't a player? Whenever he saw the two together, they were just talking. Just interacting. Just being friendly. Just being close. Just acting how friends act. So why were their smiles enough to make Alfred sick to his stomach? If he wanted to protect Arthur, then he'd just be angry, right? So why did he feel a stab in his chest whenever Arthur looked at his phone and bit his lip?

Maybe… He'd never felt this feeling before now because Arthur was _always_ by his side without fail. Even after _That._ After cheering him up, Arthur remained by him. But now…

The washer in front of him slowed to a stop. The "01" fell to "00."

Alfred peered up from his phone to stare at his still clothes.

Now Arthur was no longer staying in one place. He was expanding his horizons…and growing. Growing away from him. Growing out of his love for Alfred and leaving it behind with the rest of his childhood.

Alfred's heart ached.


	10. Chapter 10

Half Baked

Chapter 10

Alfred opened the dryer door and tossed his wet clothes in. If Arthur was so insistent on moving on and leaving him in the dust, then he'd just do the same. "Let's see how Arthur feels when he's tossed to the curb," he muttered and slammed the dryer door closed. He pressed his usual button, medium speed—the safe middle ground so his crap would dry and not shrink. He fell back against the laundry room couch and pulled out his phone again. In a few seconds, he'd sent a reply running along the lines of "later" and scrolled through his contacts. His thumb tapped against a group member's number, and he placed his phone against his ear.

"Alfred?" The voice who'd answered, asked.

"Hey, yeah."

"Did you have a question about the PowerPoint? I've got it all sorted."

"Nah, nah. You wanted to go out, right?"

"Uh— Yes—" Happiness bloomed in the voice's tone.

"You busy?"

"Well— I've just been working on the PowerPoint…"

"So you're too busy to go get dinner in the dining hall?"

"No, no, I can come. I've been meaning to take a break, after all. When were you thinking of getting dinner?"

Alfred's eyes fell on the dryer he'd put his clothes into. "Right now. I just put my laundry in the dryer. We've got a good 45 minutes. I'll grab a table."

"Yes, alright. I'll see you in a couple minutes!"

"Yeah, see ya," Alfred murmured and hung up. He pocketed his phone and sighed heavily, bracing himself. A whole new world. He was about to step into a whole new world.

Alfred gripped the phone in his pocket as he walked out of the laundry room and to the dining hall. The hum of students talking and eating an early dinner invaded Alfred's ears, but he shrugged it off—students talking felt more like home than anything anyway. He took the seat closest to the entrance, figuring that any place was good enough for his date. His eyes traveled around the dining hall until his gaze wandered towards the windows. He hadn't noticed his date's arrival until the chair across from him had been pulled out.

"Alfred, it's nice to see you."

Alfred's attention shot towards the student across from him. "Yeah. Yeah, same here. Thanks for giving me a chance, Oli."

Alfred's date took a seat and gave Alfred a warm, yet hesitant, smile. "Yes. I actually prefer 'Oliver.' I thought you just needed some time. I wasn't even sure you were open to my advances."

"Mhm. Stuff's been changing for me recently. Like. My type."

"Oh," Oliver hummed, "like what? You like boys instead of girls now?"

Alfred shook his head. "No. I still like girls. I just… I think I'm…" His voice lowered a little. "I think I'm starting to like guys."

"… You mean realize it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good. You've realized it just in time, right?"

Alfred's lips tugged into a frown, and his eyes fell away from Oliver. Honestly, he would've loved to realize his tastes _years ago._

"…Not just in time?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nah. But that's okay. I can make it work. Better now than later, yeah?"

Oliver's temporary worry melted away. "Yes. Before we forget, should we get something?" He lifted his chin towards the food stations on the other side of the room.

"Ah, yeah." Alfred met Oliver's eyes again, pushing away the guilt he'd felt in favor of a more light-hearted atmosphere. "Maybe the food'll be good today." He spoke with a grin, obviously meaning to joke as other students did about the less-than-adequate quality of the food.

Oliver's nose scrunched, and he did his best to make his light grimace sympathetic. "The food's usually good. I suppose you've come in at bad times."

Well, since the mood Alfred had been going for was effectively destroyed, he decided to, instead, immediately leave the situation. "I'm going to get food. You can stay; I'll get something for you, too. What do you want?" He stood and rested a hand on the table.

Oliver stood as well. "I'll just have cereal. Sugary, please. I can't stand that bland stuff—especially with milk. You know, milk on its own definitely dulls whatever it's with, so if you were to have it with any of the bland cereal, you'd be—"

"Okay, sure. Why're you getting up?"

"Oh— I was going to get us drinks. You can't possibly hold a bowl of cereal, a plate with food, and two cups at the same time. What do you want to drink?" Oliver rested his hands on the table, anchoring himself as well.

"Coke is fine. I'll meet you back here." Without waiting for a response, he lifted his hand from the table dock and strode off towards the food stations. Alfred glanced back to see Oliver stroll over to the cups and soda fountain. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. But Oliver was nice. Even if he was a little stuck up and self-centered.

Alfred mentally chastised himself.

He was only picking out the bad parts of Oliver. Alfred's eyes traveled back to his date to see him settled back at the table. Oliver stared at the windows as one of his fingers idly twisted around a curl just below his ear. It wasn't as if Oliver wasn't cute. Alfred knew that. Oliver already liked him—that was a good quality.

Alfred stacked his plate with food he'd been eyeing before heading towards the cereal station.

Oliver seemed considerate, too. He didn't ignore Alfred; he outright offered to help carry stuff back to the table. Cute, considerate, into Alfred. Well, Oliver dressed nice, too. Comfy things, but not lazy things. Professional sweaters, slacks. Geez, and his hair looked really soft, too.

Alfred looked at the different cereals before deciding to just fill the bowl with every sugary option and top it off with… Alfred glanced to Oliver who was still watching the windows. Regular or chocolate…? Alfred's attention fell back to the cereal, and he filled the rest of the bowl with chocolate milk. Carefully, he walked back to the table and set Oliver's cereal down as well as his plate. He took his seat and held a spoon out to Oliver.

Oliver, now snapped back into reality, gave Alfred a bit of a pained smile and accepted the spoon. "Thank you."

Alfred dipped his chin as a nod of acknowledgement and scooped up his pizza to eat. As he took bites of his pizza, Oliver stared at him with big, contemplative eyes. Alfred glanced around the room, and every time his eyes fell back in Oliver's grasp, it was as if he could watch a history play out if he could only keep staring into Oliver's gaze. "… What?"

Oliver's shoulders jolted, and he stared down at his cereal. "Sorry— You…" He mumbled, "You just look a lot like my ex." Guilt chewed at him as he tapped his spoon against his cereal. "Maybe this isn't a good idea." He gradually lifted his head until he had the courage to meet Alfred's eyes again. "I know it's been a few months for me, but… Maybe I'm—" He winced, "—treating you like a rebound."

"Wait, what—?" A brief fleck of panic penetrated Alfred's composed face. "No, it's cool. We're cool."

"Are you sure?" Oliver's eyebrows knitted together with worry. "Isn't that cruel, though? That I'd go out with you because you look like someone I've previously dated?"

"No," Alfred stated. He grabbed Oliver's free hand with his own and stared into his bright eyes. "Date me."

Oliver's eyes widened. "Date you?"

"You wanted to, right?"

"I wanted to go out with you. I still do." His eyebrows furrowed. "I wasn't expecting a romantic relationship status, however."

Alfred's lips pulled into a grin. "Well, we're dating." He paused. "If you're cool with it."

Worry still remained on Oliver's features, but it sat differently on him than it did on Arthur. When Arthur worried, Alfred noted, he looked more like the world was about to disappear beneath his feet, whereas… When Oliver looked worried, it seemed more like he felt pity more than anything.

"Alright," Oliver murmured before shrugging away his hesitancy from before. "We'll see how it goes. You're very determined." And perhaps…too gung ho for actual romantic relationships.

"Thanks." Alfred released Oliver's hand and went right to work eating his dinner. If he wanted to get back up to his room while Arthur was still there, he had to swallow his food fast.

Oliver kept his eyes on his cereal as he began eating it.

Alfred hoped Oliver would eat faster as he inhaled his pizza and fries. "So," he spoke between bites, "fucking finals are killing me. It's great you're doing the PowerPoint; I don't have the fucking time."

Oliver winced at each of Alfred's curses. "It's no trouble. If…you could avoid curses in front of me, I'd be grateful."

"Oh, shit— Sorry. Is it like. Are you a prude?" As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he immediately regretted them. "I mean— Sorry. Sorry. You're not a prude. I'm just used to cursing. It's…relaxing?"

Oliver's chin lifted. "…I'm sure. I've had…experiences with cursing. It's unpleasant. You don't have to stop entirely, of course. If you could just monitor it around me, it'd help."

Alfred nodded softly. "Yeah, sure." His eyes fell down to Oliver's bowl. "You almost done?" He inhaled his last fry.

Oliver eyed the remaining sugar puffs and flakes in his bowl and decided there were few enough and they were soft enough. He set his spoon on a napkin and drank down the remainder of his dinner before setting the bowl down. "Yes. I'm finished. I'll have to have cereal with chocolate milk more often."

"Great." Alfred compiled their dishes and cups and rushed them over to the dish washing window. He set them down and darted back to Oliver. "Let's go back to my room."

Oliver lifted an eyebrow and stood. "Well, thank you for the invitation, but I need to get back to the PowerPoint."

"Just for a minute." Alfred halted his rushed demeanor. "I want to introduce you to my roommate. It'll take a second, and you can go right back to working on the PowerPoint."

Oliver's lips tugged into a tentative half-smile, and he had that look of pity again. "Alright. Lead the way."

Alfred nodded and hurried back up to his room as if it were a race. Goddamn, he had to get Arthur realizing what he was missing _right now._ He was sure as soon as Arthur saw him with Oliver, then he'd confess all over again. He'd say it wasn't fair that Alfred was dating a guy when _he_ had feelings for Alfred _first._ Everything would work out. Oliver didn't seem too into him anyway, and Arthur would dump Al. Perfect.

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his cheeks as he pulled out his keys. He glanced towards the elevators to see if Oliver made it upstairs after him.

Oliver, who had a perplexed expression, caught his breath. It was almost like Alfred was trying to lose him. What the heck?

Alfred shoved open his dorm door. "Arthur!"

Arthur, who'd been effectively startled, nearly fell out of his desk chair. He sent a glare towards Alfred. He hissed, "What?"

Alfred recomposed himself and masterfully applied his usual cool façade. "Just wanted you to meet my new boyfriend." He looked to Oliver, who'd stepped into the dorm.

Oliver glanced between Arthur's wide eyes and gaping mouth and Alfred's triumphant smirk.

Oh.

Oliver's pity-filled, worried expression returned. Well. That was why Alfred was so eager to date him. "Hi—"

"You're straight," Arthur stated, refusing to believe whatever joke Alfred presented.

Alfred tore his eyes from Oliver to look to Arthur…and the clear fact his roommate was gripping his chair and desk for dear life. His smirk fell, but he didn't lose his composure.

 _This…_

This was a mistake.

"No," Alfred murmured. "I'm bi."

"But— Then…" Arthur's shock gradually melted into pain. "…back in middle school?"

"Wasn't interested."

"And now?"

"I'm dating Oli."

Oliver's gaze passed between the two. "…Ver. Oliver. It's nice to meet you, Arth—"

"So what the fuck is this?" Anger seeped into Arthur's tone.

"Don't curse in front of him; he's sensitive about that crap."

Disgust overtook Oliver. Clearly, this date wasn't worth the time of day.

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and cautiously removed his hands from his desk and chair in favor of crossing his arms. "Sorry, Oliver."

"It's _fine."_ Oliver sent Alfred a glare.

Reality seemed to possess Alfred again, and he remembered that Oliver was actually a person with feelings standing beside him. "Ah— Oli, sorry. I'm just. Finals stress and all."

"… Right." Oliver tilted his head, grasping the general idea of what was going on and deciding that he'd never speak to Alfred again outside of group meetings. "Well, I need to get back to the PowerPoint. Good meeting you, Arthur." He backed up and stepped out of the minefield, pulling the door closed behind him.

Once the third party left, Alfred and Arthur were left staring at each other.


	11. Chapter 11

Half Baked

Chapter 11

If Alfred and Arthur got into a shouting match as soon as Oliver closed their dorm door, he didn't hear them. It was just as well. Let them sort it all out; Alfred wasn't worth his time. Oliver walked down the hall, finding the gaudy yellow paint unsettling. He stopped at the crossroads where the right led to the stairwell and the left led to the common area. The TV was playing, but it was muted. Oliver took the left turn and stopped just before entering the common area. Commercials played on the TV. Before he could figure out why the TV had been abandoned, the door to his right opened.

"Oli?" Al's eyes fell on Oliver, and he froze halfway out of his dorm.

"Allen—" Oliver couldn't help the shocked squeak of his voice. He cleared his throat. "I forgot this was your floor."

"You mean you didn't pay the toll when you were getting off the elevator?"

Oliver let out an amused huff and smiled. "How have you been?"

"Good, good. I got out on parole."

"Allen."

"Kidding." Al stepped out of his dorm and pulled the door closed behind him. "I was about to read between commercials. Wanna talk instead?" He gestured to the navy blue couch across from him.

Oliver sighed as he looked over the couch. The PowerPoint could wait. He'd already gotten a chunk of it done, and all that was left was Alfred's portion. He could ignore that. For now. "I think I'd like that." He circled the corner and sat down against the couch's arm.

Al followed and sat against the couch's opposite arm. "What brings you down to Yellow Town?"

"Allen, that's really…not a good joke."

"I'm paid by quantity, not quality. You here to see me?"

Oliver shook his head and idly twisted a finger in his soft curls. "No, I was invited to someone's room." He groaned. "We had a shoddy 'date' in the dining hall, and he insisted that I come upstairs to meet his roommate."

"So the sex was good?"

Oliver kicked Allen's feet off the couch.

"Okay, okay— So. No sex. Was his roommate as lame as him?"

Oliver tucked his feet back and stared off at the TV. He sighed. "I feel sorry for him—the roommate. It's clear he likes the doofus I spent all of ten minutes with. And he just brought me up to his room to shove me in his roommate's face. Who does that? If it was someone who had their heart set on this date, they'd be destroyed."

"But luckily you're tough as nails."

"Luckily. Not so sure his roommate is, though. Oh, he started cursing immediately. 'What the eff is this,' he said."

"You know you can curse in front of me, Oli." Al's gentle gaze rested on Oliver, trying to coax comfort out of him.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't want to. I don't like it."

"Alright. Anyway, the loser down the hall was a jerk to you and his roommate. I guess you didn't stick around."

"Of course not. Why would I waste any more time with him? Ugh." Oliver rubbed his eyes, exhausted by the idiocy he had to witness. "Thank goodness I just have a group project with the doofus and then I never have to communicate with him again. I feel like I stabbed his roommate somehow. It's like the world shattered in his eyes."

Al shrugged, and his sympathy shined through his attempt at being aloof. "What're you gonna do? There's jerks doing jerk things here every day. Like… Oh, yeah, I've been seeing someone cute, but he's so freaking blinded. How long did it take you to figure out I wanted to date you when we met?"

Oliver eyed Al before looking out the windows beside him as he thought. "…Maybe a couple days? I remember you telling me bad jokes frequently, and you flirted a lot." A soft smile played on his lips at the memory. "You won me over fast; you were so charming."

"Okay, okay. Yeah. Couple days." Al straightened his back and pulled his legs together to cross them. "Alright, so. I met this guy way back in like…the beginning of March. We're still not a thing yet."

"Maybe he doesn't want to date you, and he doesn't want to lead you on? I know it'd be a Great Mystery to you—who wouldn't want to date Allen Jones?" Oliver waved his hands half-heartedly to pair with his facetious comment.

Al pouted. "Low blow."

"Sorry, Allen. You're really very charming and considerate. You know I don't mean it."

"S'alright. Okay, but. Yeah. He's totally head-over-heels for his roommate, but his roommate's a jerk. Like. Class A jerk. Overprotective. Like…abusive, even. There's this thing that happened way back in middle school, and it still bothers this guy I like. Alfred's not gonna date him, but here he is still holding out and hoping that the Mighty Wonderful Alfred will say 'oh, actually, yeah, it just so happens that even though I'm straight, I'll date you.' Like? What?" Al leaned back against the couch's arm and groaned at the ceiling. "He's so _stupid._ Well—" Al immediately straightened his back to correct himself. "He's not stupid. He's adorable and sweet and needs to be protected. He's just…doing something stupid."

"…You said 'Alfred'?"

"Oh, my God. Not you, too."

"No, no, that's the doofus! Alfred! He paraded into his room and forced me onto his roommate! Uhm— A…?"

"Arthur—"

"Arthur! His roommate's name's Arthur! And he looked so distraught when Alfred said he was bisexual."

"He said _what?"_

"Don't take that tone with me." Oliver crossed his arms. "Alfred says he's bisexual. He's just realized it. I'd say good for him, but it looks like it hurts Arthur."

"You're goddamn right it does." Al stood and moved to storm out of the common room, but Oliver gripped his arm.

"…Allen, take a breath. Arthur's in the room with him, and if he's as fragile as we both think he is, then punching Alfred is going to make things worse. Wait a while. Calm down."

"Fine."

* * *

"So," Arthur finally spoke. "You're bisexual." His anger had simmered down somewhat. He had to keep reminding himself that Alfred had a right to be attracted to whoever he found interesting. Oliver was interesting. Interesting enough to keep Alfred's attention. Alfred's attention… He was always looking at everything, talking about everything, fucking every—

"Yeah. Just figured it out," Alfred blurted out.

Or rather, it seemed blurted out. It interrupted Arthur's rampaging train of thought well enough. "Just now?"

"Well—before I asked out Oli."

"Oliver."

"Yeah, Oliver. 'Oli's a pet name. It's cute."

"Like Art?" Arthur lifted an eyebrow, allowing his bitterness to show.

Silence fell against them again. Arthur didn't have it in him to stare at Alfred, so his eyes fell away to the rough, dark carpet. Alfred wasn't a private person. Every tiny change in his life was broadcasted. He was incapable of being discreet or secretive. Arthur hadn't seen Oliver—hadn't even heard of him—until a minute ago. Alfred never once talked about another guy as if he loved him—or even felt attracted to them. Alfred's attraction… Arthur never saw it in anything. Well, he hadn't until Alfred loudly proclaimed that he and Oliver were dating, but that's the only way Arthur would have known.

The shades of color in the carpet began taking shape.

… Why would Alfred do this? Why would he do this to Arthur? His best friend? Alfred had just paraded his new boyfriend in front of Arthur, who's had a massive love for Alfred for _six years,_ and told Arthur he was truly bisexual and not interested in him all within the span of two minutes. It was overwhelming.

"Say something, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes flicked back to Alfred.

"I know you're stuck in your head, but I need to hear something from you."

Something? 'I need something'? Fuck, throw Arthur a bone first. What the hell was going on?! "What?" Arthur leaned back against his desk, the edge of it digging into his side. "What can I say to any of that?"

Alfred's eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly, and the light in his eyes shined just a bit duller.

Panic struck him. Alfred dumped all of this on Arthur in two minutes not because he wanted to hurt him (God forbid; Alfred wasn't cruel), but because Alfred was sick of holding it all in. Alfred _wasn't_ a private person, so this secret was no doubt rotting his insides.

"I don't… That's." Alfred began to stumble over his words.

He was afraid. Alfred was afraid of how Arthur, his long-time best friend, would take the life-changing news, and he'd finally worked up enough courage to spill all he had. Arthur stood and wrapped his arms around Alfred, giving him a hug in solidarity. "I'm sorry," Arthur spoke against Alfred's chest. "I'm sorry; I've been so sucked into what's going on in my life. I didn't think that you'd be hiding something like this."

Alfred's eyes widened. He knew Arthur was perceptive, but he was still surprised. "Then… You still do?"

Arthur paused and took a step back to give Alfred his room. "Still do what? Like…boys?"

"Like me?"

Arthur lifted his chin, realizing that Alfred was thinking of his feelings about the situation. He'd misunderstood him. Alfred was growing up…and hiding it from him. "I…" Arthur dug his teeth into his bottom lip and looked away.

Hope filled Alfred's eyes. "So you do?"

Arthur winced and bit his lip harder. "Y…yes," his voice stumbled out in a whisper. "Yes, but— Please don't think you have to hide any of this."

Alfred shook his head, and his lips pulled into a grin. "No, no. 'Course not." He yanked his wallet out of his back pocket. "I thought you still liked me. So when Oli came in, you were jealous?"

Arthur paused, briefly surprised. Ah, but Alfred was getting more perceptive. If Alfred knew he still liked him, it'd be a reasonable assumption that Alfred would know he would be jealous. "Just… Yes. But still—don't think you have to hide it from me. You and Oliver look…nice together." Arthur felt the metaphorical knife twist in his chest. Yeah, Alfred was bisexual. He liked guys. Arthur could've had a chance, but…take down oneself to protect others, right? Alfred had already said he wasn't interested. If Arthur backed off, then Alfred would be able to be happy with Oliver.

…Oliver. His more-or-less, _fucking_ copy. Arthur squeezed his eyes closed to ignore that Oliver even had an accent.

"Yeah, I just…we just had a date. Ignore it."

A soft crinkle of old paper invaded Arthur's ears, and his eyes flew open when he felt the paper's folded edges against his cheek.

"I just wanted to be sure how you feel. So… This is me proving it to you."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and accepted the folded paper out of Alfred's hand. He glanced down to see his wallet out and open; Alfred had kept this—whatever it was. He unfolded the paper, knowing for sure he'd seen it before. That tear at the top, the color of the teal lines, the dirty footprint on the back…

"I like you."

…and the meticulously-chosen marker that painted an entire side with paragraphs of puppy love. Arthur was face-to-face with his 7th grade handwriting. Arthur's eyes widened as the abuse he experienced back then flooded his senses. The mocking, the name-calling, the sick twisted feeling in his stomach, the smell of the urine and excess aftershave from the boy's bathroom, his blurred vision, his ruined book covers, the taste of chocolate and stab of dry cookie scraping down his throat, the inability to speak for days— The paper fell to the rough, dark carpet. Geometric shapes appeared in the floor's variation of blue and black. It helped. Alfred's blonde hair interrupted the view as he bent down and picked up the abused love note.

"I've been saving it. I wanted to prove to you that I care. I… You've always been different. And I realized…that I really like you. And I wanna date. …Arthur?"

Arthur's head snapped up to meet Alfred's line of vision. His wide eyes wavered as they took in Alfred's concerned look. Arthur worked to forcibly remove himself from the flashback which threatened to asphyxiate him. He took in shaky breaths.

Alfred tossed his wallet and the love note away onto his desk before gripping Arthur's shoulders and staring into his eyes. "Hey," he spoke as his hands slipped down Arthur's shoulders and gathered at the small of his back, holding Arthur in a loose hug, "Art, you heard me, right? I wanna date, do romantic shit. Aren't you happy? You're like…"

Broken or something.

Arthur's thoughts hiccupped back into existence, and he rested a hand against Alfred's chest to keep him at a distance. "It's been suffocating in there for six years?" His voice wavered. "You felt this way for six years?"

"…Yeah." Alfred brushed his lips against Arthur's ear. "…M'sorry. I…took a while to wake up, huh?"

Arthur let out a broken laugh as tears pooled in his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Half Baked

Chapter 12

Al reluctantly lingered in front of Oliver even though he desperately wanted to shove his fist through Alfred's face.

"Are you going to stay here?"

Al let out a frustrated huff. "Yes, but all bets are off when Alfred's alone. Deal?"

Oliver nodded. "Deal." He released Al's arm, and Al shoved his hands in his pockets. "Christ. I don't like this silence. My phone should've gone off by now. He should've ran to my room as soon as you left."

"You can't be everyone's hero, Al," Oliver murmured before getting comfortable on the couch again.

"I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm trying to be a good person." Al's nails scratched at the back of his neck as he glanced away. Being a hero… His nose scrunched as he imagined himself in the bright, kitschy colors from the 1940's costumes.

"And a good person isn't a hero because…?"

Al's eyes fell back on Oliver who sat with his lips curled into a thoughtful smile. "…I guess… Heroes get recognition. Regular people who do a good deed don't get recognized. Or— I guess they're not praised as often." He paused. "I don't wanna punch Alfred because if Arthur's with him then he's not with me. I wanna punch Alfred because he keeps hurting Arthur. Whether I wanna be with Arthur or not doesn't change the fact that Alfred's a sleaze."

"So… Not a hero. Role model?"

"God, no."

"You could be a fair role model, Allen."

"Hell no."

Oliver frowned and glanced away, dropping the subject.

The sound of hurried footfalls thudded down the hall. Al sighed softly. They both shared an expression of sympathy before looking to the common area entrance. Arthur appeared shortly after. Al had expected the red around Arthur's eyes, but what caught him off guard was the bright grin stretched across his face.

"Al!" Arthur all but tackled him and held his torso in a hug. "We're together! Alfred wants to date! He likes me! I can't believe it— I've waited for so long, and now finally he's ready… I'm so happ—" Arthur's eyes fell on Oliver, just now noting that he was there. His grin fell, and he released Al without breaking eye contact. "Um… Oliver… I…"

"Hm?" Oliver's gaze drifted from Al's blank expression to Arthur's wince. "What?"

"…I… I'm sorry. I know you just went out with him earlier. It's… It's very rude of me to be this way in front of you."

"What, happy?" Oliver lifted an eyebrow before waving a hand dismissively. "No, please. Be happy. It was just one date. If you get caught up in every person you go out on one date with, you'll tear yourself apart in a matter of months."

Arthur's worry faltered, and his frame relaxed every so softly.

Oliver's eyes flickered between Arthur and Al before he forced a bright smile. "Sit next to me, Arthur!" He spoke with gusto he pulled out of thin air, "Tell me all about it!" Oliver reached out and pulled on Arthur's arm.

Arthur, in his surprise, all but fell on the couch beside Oliver.

"Tell me what happened when I left. I thought for sure you two would get into a private argument. I couldn't possibly force myself to stay to witness it and disrespect you both. Gosh, that would be so rude!" He halted his many statements and glanced at Al.

Al, who'd been stunned into silence, mentally shook himself awake before he realized what was going on. "Yeah. Lemme grab some candy to celebrate. What do you two want?"

"Uhm— You don't have to get me anything, Al— I'm fine just as is."

"Get Arthur something fruity." Oliver gasped. "And a sour punch candy for me." He gave Al a wink.

"Got it." With that, Al walked out of the common area. He swung his leg against the door to the stairwell so it'd screech open and whine as it closed. He, however, turned and continued down the hall towards Alfred and Arthur's room. Oliver's ecstatic voice and Arthur's hesitant murmurs faded quickly, and Al found himself in front of the dorm room of hell. He smacked the side of his foot against the door.

On the other side, Alfred's footsteps shuffled languidly towards the door. The lock clicked, and Alfred pulled the dorm door open. His lips curled into a pleased smile. "Hey. Came to bitch about how I won?"

Al's fist flew. Pain burst in Alfred's cheek as his glasses fell to the dark carpet abyss, and Alfred had to grip Arthur's chair to right himself. The ache intensified through waves of stinging, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He felt his cheek and stared at Al with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Al shook his right hand to get the slight sting out, all while keeping his cold eyes locked with Alfred's. His foot hooked around the dorm door before guiding it closed, cutting the both of them off from the outside world.

"What the fuck?" Alfred murmured.

Al's right hand tightened into a fist. His lips remained a frown, and although Al's gaze was calm, Alfred felt like an ant under a boot's shadow.

Alfred's cheek began to bruise.

When Al finally spoke, it was in a low whisper, "You're done fucking with him."

Alfred stood up straight, neglecting to use Arthur's chair as a crutch any longer. He lifted his chin. "Oh? I thought you were supposed to be a good guy, the supportive friend next door—someone worthy of Arthur's attention?"

Al let out a breath of a laugh. His lips tugged back into a toothy grin. This time, Al's fist flew into Alfred's other cheek, knocking him down to the floor.

Alfred stared. Once he realized he'd fallen, his eyes shot up to Al.

"Yeah," Al's voice rolled out in a gravelly hum, " _Right."_ He stood over Alfred, his amusement entirely too evident. "I'm gonna use little words so you can fucking understand. You're gonna let him do whatever he wants, and you're gonna shut up about it, m'kay?"

"…You'd just manipulate him into giving you sex." Alfred winced and rubbed his fresh bruise. "You think you're some kinda hero? Bullshit. You're more possessive than me. You'd smother him. I bet you'd beat him, too."

Al's toothy grin grew tense, and the rage in him built higher and higher until it shined through his seams. He swung his foot into Alfred's stomach with the intent to kick _through_ it. Alfred's breath shot out of his body, and he coughed once before Al swung his leg back into Alfred's stomach. Alfred's back smacked against his desk drawers, banging the desk against the wall. Alfred clamped a hand over his mouth as flecks of blood pooled between his fingers.

Al squatted down and fisted his hand in Alfred's hair, yanking it back so Alfred would have no choice but to meet his gaze. "I don't care what kinda angel Arthur sees you as, but I'm gonna free him even if I have to pry him from your cold, dead hands. Got it?"

Alfred's eyes wavered as he stared up at Al, unblinking.

Al released his hold on Alfred's hair, and he stood before giving Alfred another swift kick to the stomach for extra measure. He turned on his heel and walked to the door. He let out a sigh of relief, glad to get some of his rage out of his system. "See ya, asshole." Al opened the door and swung it closed behind him before heading to the elevator. He had to at least return to Arthur and Oliver with candy, right?


	13. Chapter 13

Half Baked

Chapter 13

Alfred stared at the door from where he was on the floor. He let out another weak cough before forcing himself to sit up. His lips began to pull into a smile, but the pain in his cheeks argued against it. He put effort into standing and lifted his shirt to see the damage Al's swift kicks did. No doubt he'd see a few nasty bruises by tomorrow. After a moment of thought, Alfred fetched a couple of freezing water bottles from the stunted fridge and held them against his cheeks. As much as he'd love to have physical proof of Al's rage, he'd rather not have it visible to everyone. No, he just needed Arthur to see it.

Alfred decided then and there that Al had given him a perfect, gift-wrapped way to cut off his ties with Arthur. He strolled down the hall, pleased—despite his aching waves of pain. He hooked around each corner before stepping into the common area. Arthur, who had been lulled into a sense of familiarity and security, froze when his eyes fell on Alfred.

Oliver leaned back and looked to Alfred. His eyes widened, and his frown dug into his cheeks so his lips wouldn't spring into a giggling smile. He had to admit he was pleased to see that Al had let out some of his anger, and Alfred was still walking so it was alright.

"Alfred—" Arthur leapt off the couch and stepped over to his new boyfriend. "Alfred, what happened? What—"

Alfred removed one of the water bottles to show Arthur his angry red cheek. "Al decked me. Twice. Oh, and he accidentally kicked me in the stomach. Three times. Clumsy."

Oliver's frown was suddenly much easier to keep intact. He'd predicted Al would throw a few punches, but the blood on Alfred's lips and between his fingers filled Oliver with a sense of panic.

Two conflicting worlds passed through Arthur's eyes as he stared at the dried blood between Alfred's fingers. On one hand, Al was a gentle, cuddly teddy who'd never do anything to hurt other people. On the other hand, Alfred was standing in front of Arthur with blood caked at the corners of his lips.

Footsteps echoed weakly down the hall accompanied by the crinkle of candy wrappers. Al turned the corner and froze in place when Arthur's eyes fell on him.

Oliver leaned over the couch to see past the wall down the hall. "Allen, you didn't." He winced. "You didn't kick the spit out of him, did you?"

"Uh, did what now?" Al lifted an eyebrow, and his presence seemed to shrink a bit.

The conflicting thoughts bathed Arthur in confusion; he could hardly hear the conversation. His head shook lightly, and his eyes fell between Alfred and Al. Arthur's mouth hesitantly opened, almost about to ask if Al had anything to do with Alfred's wounds.

"He punched me and kicked me," Alfred stated. "He said he'd pry—"

Al shouted, "Yes! Yeah. Yeah, I did." As much as he hated knowing Arthur would be hurt, it'd be so much worse if Arthur knew Alfred saw him as an object—a fountain of unconditional love. "Yeah…" And if Alfred managed to explain Al's death threat, Arthur wouldn't ever speak to him again. "I punched him twice and kicked him in the stomach three times." The candy began feeling awkward and heavy in his pockets.

"Allen," Oliver's disappointed tone dusted his lips.

"What the fuck?" Arthur murmured. "What— What got into your head? What made you think you can do something like that? You— That's assault. That's punishable by law. Al, I don't…understand. Why…? You know how much… You know how important this is to me. I just told you I was happy." He immediately interrupted his own pause. "And Alfred! I understand he's on the school team, but tackling and punches and kicks are all different!"

Honestly, none of them were entirely sure what Arthur was saying, but they all chalked it up to how hard his brain fell when Alfred ripped the rug out beneath him.

"I can't believe you'd do this. I guess…you're really not who I thought you were?" Arthur gently rested a hand against Alfred's shoulder, wordlessly asking him to head back to their room. "Al, you're…"

"I'm telling the truth," Al muttered, angry at himself. "I punched him once for me and once for Oliver because Alfred used him and treated him like chewed gum stuck to his shoe."

"And you kicked him three times." Arthur's eyebrow lifted, daring Al to possibly defend his rage.

"He's got a very kickable stomach."

"Allen!" Oliver looked to Arthur with pity in his eyes. "Arthur, you'd better go back to your room and help Alfred with his…ice packs. I'll see you later? Maybe I could help you pack some of your things for the move out?"

Arthur, grateful that Oliver offered up a dock on which to anchor his mind, nodded. It was nice to be able to grasp something solid in the stormy midst of thoughts. "I'll text you," he stated before taking Alfred's hand. Arthur stepped towards Al, guiding Alfred behind him.

Al seemed to wake up from his inner monologue and scooped the candy out of his pocket he'd gotten for Arthur. "Hey," he spoke softly, gently, "here. I got it for you."

"Keep it."

The candy wrapper crinkled as Al's fingers instantly tightened around it.

Alfred looked to the carpet as Arthur walked along. Arthur made a pointed effort to avoid Al's eyes.

Al stared down the hall after Alfred and Arthur as the wrapper in his hand whined and popped open. Little, multicolored, fruity snacks fell from the wrapper. "Shit—"

"Allen."

"What?"

"Come here."

"Are you going to parent me again?" Al sighed and knelt down to pick up the candy he'd dropped. "Are you gonna say 'oh, Allen, calm down. It's not the end of the world. It's just romance. Romance is stupid. Friendship's better anyways.'" His frustration filled his tone, "'Arthur's not stupid. He'll see what a tool Alfred is in no time. I'll have a talk with him.' Well, I don't need your help, Ma!" Al sent a glare at Oliver.

Oliver still leaned over the couch's arm, staring down the hall at his hunched-over ex. "So you still hate me for our break-up?"

"What kinda asshole—" His words faltered as they left his lips. Al looked back down at the rainbow candy that melted in his hot hand. "… Sorry. … What kinda jerk just up and says, 'I don't like you because you like me'? To his boyfriend? You liked me, and I liked you. So? That's how romance works. What, you thought it'd be different?"

Oliver spoke in a quiet voice, almost afraid to be anything louder than a whisper, "I was still figuring it out."

"So you used me to figure out stuff about yourself. That's cool. Classy."

"Allen, please. We only just started talking again."

"Oh, right. Yeah. Forgot. Maybe you should go run off. I might accidentally say I give a damn about you." Al gasped, unable to help the sarcasm that gripped him.

Oliver's nose scrunched as he barred his temper. "I love you. So much. If you can't get my way of loving through your thick skull by now, then what's the use in speaking to each other? Why are you vilifying me for nothing?"

Al's head hung back as he stared down Oliver with wide, annoyed eyes. "What, you love me? What? We should get married then. Be my husband, Oli. I'll romance you like no one's been romanced before!"

Oliver sent Al the dirtiest look he could muster and remained silent.

Al head rolled forward again to search for any lost candy. "Yeah. I'm talking shit for nothing."

The curse sent a stab of pain through Oliver, but it only lasted a moment—just enough to sting. He stood and walked directly towards the stairwell. "Arsehole," he hissed before shoving open the stairwell door and storming away from Al's tantrum.


	14. Chapter 14

Half Baked

Chapter 14

Arthur pushed their door closed as Alfred took a seat at his desk chair. He watched as Arthur stomped to and fro, collecting better tools to make ice packs and thinking about Al's behavior. Arthur dug his palm into his eye and swiped at his other cheek as if a bug tried to lick it. Alfred's eyes gradually gravitated down to the floor. To him, it was just all one color. A navy blue with a few streaks of whatever. He hadn't really looked at it hard enough to care, but right now it seemed like the most interesting thing in the room.

Arthur gasped in some air and blew out his frustration with a shuddery sigh.

The sound shot directly through Alfred's chest.

Yeah, his injuries hurt, but he'd had worse.

Arthur was having worse.

Alfred shook his head briefly and forced himself to watch Arthur. Arthur tapped the iced water bottle against Alfred's cheek. The most he'd done was wrap the water bottles in washcloths.

The amount of pain in Arthur's (usually calm) eyes shook Alfred. His thoughts shot back to Arthur's confession—the look on his face then—before the second water bottle against his other cheek snatched him back into the present. Alfred's eyes, wide and trying their damndest to be observant, seized Arthur's. Sure, Alfred could see the surface of what Arthur felt, and he was always an open book, but it'd been a _long, long_ time since he'd seen Arthur so broken up.

Alfred rested his hands over Arthur's freezing fingers and gave them a small squeeze. A temporary glimmer in Arthur's eyes connected him to the real world. Unshed tears began to tremble in his eyes as Alfred watched the destruction going on through the cracks in Arthur's carefully maintained shield.

Alfred's lips parted, but he hadn't thought of anything to say. His head slightly swayed from side to side. And the thought of chocolate chip cookies left a sour taste in his mouth. Cookies, the all-powerful Tool of Healing. If Alfred was one to tell jokes often, that'd be his best: the healing power of cookies, water, and a blanket.

Arthur's lips pressed against Alfred's forehead before his arms slid around Alfred's head, cradling it with a gentle, distinct sincerity.

Alfred's eyes slipped closed as fragments of his heart began to reconstruct and thump again.

"I'm sorry."

Alfred's eyes flew open.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered. His voice barely made it through the avalanche of emotion he tried to hold back.

Alfred focused on the carpet as if he was being held at gunpoint, mouth shut and completely malleable to Arthur's whims.

* * *

Al dropped the dirty candy in the shopping bag hanging beside his desk. He vaulted himself onto his bed and smacked his head against his pillow, glaring up at the ceiling. He panted softly, desperately needing something to hurl punches at. He sat up. He could go to the rec center. If the kickboxing class wasn't in session, he could use a pair of gloves and a sand bag.

Matt grumbled, and his eyes peered open. He propped his body up with an elbow and peeked over the side of his bed to look down at Al.

Al met his eyes, but he didn't speak until he received the sign that Matt was truly awake yet. Once Matt propped his head up with a hand, Al sighed, ready to share his troubles. "Okay, you know that guy I've been trying to date for, like, ever?"

"Study Bug," Matt murmured.

"Yeah." Al's eyes fell, and his gaze landed on Matt's desk. "… I need one. Just one. Promise."

Matt lifted an eyebrow. "You're moody."

"Yeah, but that's what smoking's for. Making me _not_ moody." Al stood and rested his lower back against his bed frame. "Just one."

"You didn't need one for finals."

Al let out a frustrated groan. " _Please,_ I said I'd only take _one._ I get that the good stuff's expensive. I'll pay you back."

Matt nodded softly and let his arm hang over the bed. "S'in that bottom drawer under the psych book. Use your own lighter."

Al let out a brief sigh of relief before going right to work compiling quite possibly his last blunt for a while. "Alright, so, Study Bug and the fuck-up he rooms with are together now. Only 'cause Fuck-Up wants Study Bug all to himself. Fuckin' dick. Piece of shit." Al muttered as he focused. "So I decked Fuck-Up twice, kicked him in the stomach a few times, and threatened to kill him."

Matt's hand rested on Al's head.

Al slowed his movements and let out a soft sigh. "I wouldn't _actually_ kill him. He's just. Shit, it's like. He said he 'won' Study Bug. Like. Tell me that you wouldn't fucking stab him if he talked about someone you care about like that."

"Mm."

"Yeah, I know."

Matt's hand fell from Al's head and hung as dead weight again. "Then what?"

"He told Study Bug. Study Bug got mad."

"No shit."

"Okay, Mr. Sass, hear me out. You know I'm a rough guy." Al sent Matt a frown. "Hell, Oliver knew, and it didn't bother him."

"You two don't speak to each other."

"Nah, I saw him again like an hour ago or some shit. We started talking and flirting some, I guess." It was all natural. Oliver liked flirting. Al liked flirting. The only difference was that Al wasn't a damn tease. "We were catching up. He just got done getting shoved to the curb by Fuck-Up, so we did some shit talk until Oliver said Fuck-Up—" Al's words trailed off as he stared down at his completed blunt. "…Fuck-Up actually pulled Oliver into his room and shoved him in Study Bug's face. He _basically_ said, 'even though I'm not straight, I definitely wouldn't go out with you.' What a…" Al let out a shuddery sigh.

Matt's hand rested on Al's head again and patted it.

Al let Matt's hand hang as he grabbed his lighter before standing below it again, accepting the comforting gesture. "…Anyway. I thought Study Bug was shattered, so I wanted to deck Fuck-Up. Oliver held me back, b'cause he said it'd hurt Study Bug more if I beat the shit out of Fuck-Up in front of him. So Study Bug comes around the corner all happy and fresh from crying. He said he and Fuck-Up were together now. He was the happiest I'd ever seen him. I… I couldn't see. For a full fucking minute I couldn't see."

Matt's hand remained on Al's head.

Al flicked his lighter on and lit his blunt.

He inhaled, held in the smoke, and exhaled. The smoke warmed his body, comforting him in addition to Matt's attention. Al's eyes fell closed, and he blew out the smoke. "Study Bug...doesn't know enough about me. He was…scared, I guess. Knowin' that I'd beat his best friend's ass. And I just got done kicking Oliver out of my life. Again. So. Guess they're never talking to me again." His voice had calmed as he released his hold on his anger. "…Matt, fuck. I. I don't know how I managed to fuck this up so bad."

"You'll bounce back."

"Okay, but I lost two-thirds of my friend group today."

"You'll bounce back."

"Study Bug's in the jaws of the Beast, and Oliver's got a grudge again."

"You'll bounce back."

"But what if I fuck it up more?"

Matt removed his hand from Al's head, and he locked eyes with Al. "Al, you wear your heart on your fist. They're gonna know how you feel, and there's a reason they liked you in the first place. Open a window and relax." He pulled his arm back onto his bed.

Al's gaze slowly drifted down to Matt's desk and then to the window. With a bit of struggle, Al managed to force open the window. He hooked his foot around his desk chair and dragged it over before sitting and staring down at the traffic light and at the few students walking back from their last final.


	15. Chapter 15

Half Baked

Chapter 15

Oliver's nail tapped against Arthur's dorm door. After spending the previous night ripping paper and kicking pillows, Oliver felt that he'd composed himself enough to speak with a controlled tongue—well, controlled enough. All he had to do was pretend Arthur hadn't actively thrown himself on a path to ruin his life as he helped his new friend pack. Easy.

Alfred pulled the door open, and Oliver's smile instantly fell. His contemplative eyes watched Alfred. Oliver predicted that Alfred would do or say something stupid; he was so good at it.

"Ah… Hey, Oli—"

Oliver's eyes slipped closed, and he drew in a breath before sighing. "I'm helping Arthur pack. Don't you have a final?" In fact, Oliver had specifically scheduled his availability around Alfred's absence, thanks to his text conversation with Arthur. He hoped he wouldn't have to make up a phantom appointment.

"Yeah, I was. Yeah. I'm leaving now."

Oliver broke eye contact with Alfred and stood aside, wordlessly dismissing him. It wasn't as if Alfred didn't have enough room to leave the dorm. What, should Oliver just lie down and praise him? No matter how chiseled Alfred was, Oliver wouldn't dare lower his self-esteem to the point where he'd lust after him longer.

Alfred directed his eyes away from Oliver's judgmental stare and hurried off like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Oliver huffed to himself before standing in the empty doorway and peered into the…very clean dorm room. "Arthur? Can I come in?"

The bathroom door opened, revealing Arthur with his sleeves rolled up as well as allowing the smell of bleach permeate the immediate area. "Yeah, I was just making sure the bathroom was properly cleaned."

Instinctively, Oliver kicked the bathroom door open and all but ran to the window, prying it open. "Arthur, what're you doing cleaning with the door closed? Do you want to die?"

"Well… No."

"That's not an enthusiastic enough answer." Oliver stuck his head out the window and breathed in the fresh air. Once he'd got enough air, he ducked his head back inside and looked around the room. All Arthur had were his sheets on his bed and a stack of boxes lying across his desk and floor. "…It seems as though helping you pack's going to be very easy."

Arthur's eyes fell on the boxes, and he watched them for a moment before a shock of realization entered his eyes. "Ah— Oliver, sorry. I wanted to get a start so it wouldn't be so overwhelming when you got here, but...I ended up finishing…" He gave Oliver a bit of a wince.

Oliver stared at Arthur, not believing for a second that Arthur had unknowingly and accidentally packed all of his things and cleaned his room in just a couple hours. He noted the strong smell of bleach again. No doubt, Arthur felt he had a better hold on organization and was fairly awful at confrontation. "Right. Well. You'll have to leave your window open for a little while to get all this smell out. Want to help me pack? I've only just got a little more to go."

Arthur leaned against the bathroom doorway and glanced inside. "Just me?"

Oliver lifted an eyebrow, but he grasped the situation well enough. "Yes. And I live in a singles dorm, so we don't have to worry about seeing anyone. It'll be just you and me." And no Allen. Or Alfred, thank goodness. Oliver held Arthur's hand. "Come on. Let's go before you faint from chemical exposure." He gave Arthur's hand a small tug.

The clouds in Arthur's eyes dissipated ever so slightly, and he was back in the moment. He nodded tentatively before Oliver guided him out of the dorm room. After Arthur closed and locked his door, Oliver all but pulled him up two stories to the Cerulean Floor. Arthur's eyes drifted around, feeling a little cheated out of having easy-to-look-at walls.

Oliver's hurried steps halted at the first door near the elevator, and he released Arthur's hand as he fished out his key.

Arthur felt his body float once Oliver released him, his tie which anchored him to reality gone. Instinctively, Arthur's gaze fell down to the carpet to pick out geometric shapes and find a comforting image—like a kitten.

"Arthur?"

His eyes snapped up to meet Oliver's gaze.

Oliver stood in his dorm doorway. The sun's reflection on the building across the way shined into Oliver's room and framed him. Arthur could hardly make out his face. Oliver grasped Arthur's hand again and guided him inside. "Are you alright?"

It took a second or two for the shock of feeling ambiguous to wear off, and Arthur took in the sight of Oliver's many, many things which hadn't been packed yet. In fact, it was as if Oliver tore his place apart in a rage. But Oliver wasn't like that. Not that Arthur knew. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yes, sorry. I'm just..." He let out a sigh.

"Mm." Oliver rested his hands against Arthur's cheeks and pressed his forehead to Arthur's.

Arthur's body tensed.

"Don't fly off just yet," Oliver murmured before pulling back just enough to see properly into Arthur's eyes. Neither spoke for a moment. "… Did you know that it's okay for you to exist? Right here, right now. Did you know that you're allowed to breathe? You're allowed to want something and be frustrated or angry when those wants aren't met?"

"… Ye—"

"Did you know that you're allowed to be happy? That you're allowed to stop chipping pieces of yourself away for other people?"

"Oliver—"

"Wait. Please." Oliver brushed his thumbs over Arthur's cheeks. "I think you need to hear this because you keep floating off at any second you get." He shook his head lightly. "But you can't. Not yet."

"You're not making sense." Arthur's tenseness remained almost the same, and he was very tempted to step away. "…Do you…like me? Like… Romantically?"

At that, Oliver's hands flew away from Arthur's face as if they were burned. Chunks of horror and dread fell through his chest and settled in his stomach. This was the first sign of a friendship that would be ruined and marred by romance. It could be saved, yes, but only if he worked quickly. "I don't. I suppose, though, there should be a punch card for you. Each time someone new has a crush on you, they could punch it, and you could get some peace and quiet for free if you manage to get ten punches."

Arthur winced and felt the hallway pulling at him.

" _Don't_ float away." Oliver hooked an arm around a pile of clothes and spilled it across the bed so it'd be easier to sort and fold. "Where are you going to go? Back to your dorm to stare at the wall and get lost?"

Arthur stared down at the floor.

Oliver folded a shirt and set it aside before folding a sweater and biting his lip, thinking of where to set it. "… You know what your problem is? You know what's making you lose footing?"

Arthur huffed, not wanting to answer. He leaned against the door frame and decided to give Oliver a minute or so to prove that it's worthwhile to stay in this dorm.

Oliver dropped the sweater above the shirt and sent Arthur a knowing glance. "Guilt."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and gripped the door frame. "Not romance?"

"Of course not. As much as I personally hate it, it's not what's hurting you." Oliver went right to work on a pair of jeans. "You're hurting, and it's not because Allen's angry or because Alfred's worse for wear. It's because you feel directly responsible for it. You love them." He tossed the folded jeans down on the floor. "So if you didn't love them, would your problem be solved?"

"… Well—"

"Answer's 'no.' If it wasn't Allen or Alfred, it'd be someone else."

"But then guilt's the same, too." Arthur stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind him. "If I just cared about other people, then I'd still feel guilt sometimes. So why isn't it love?"

Oliver nodded towards a box by Arthur's feet. "Could you throw my books in there, please?"

Arthur looked between Oliver's stout bookcase and the box. He knelt down and began sorting.

"It isn't love because you're allowed to love someone and feel happy simultaneously. It's _infinitely_ harder to feel guilt and be happy at the same time." Oliver tugged at a sweater beneath the pile. "I understand you don't want to stay here and exist, but you're going to have to. Next best thing to do is understand that what happened has nothing to do with you. Allen and Alfred's behavior has everything to do with each other. If they were to kill each other or give each other flowers, you couldn't have done anything—and it wouldn't be your fault for whatever happened."

Arthur wordlessly stacked a couple anthologies.

"My point. Ah—" Oliver managed to pull out the sweater and began folding it, "—you don't owe anyone anything. Allen loves you? You don't owe him love. Alfred loves you? You don't owe _him_ love. I love you? You don't owe _me_ love. But you're certainly allowed to return it if you like—if that's what makes you happy."

Arthur's eyes shot up from his task. "You _do_ love me?"

Oliver looked to Arthur, noting the panic on his face. He rolled his eyes and propped his head up with a hand. "What if I did? What would you do? How would you feel?"

"…Fine— I'd… I'd feel fine."

"Mhm. What would you do?"

"I'd…"

Their eyes held each other in silence until Oliver sighed. "Arthur, even if I did feel romantic love for you, I wouldn't want it returned. But I'm not everyone. You need to deal with it. Having people love you romantically is awful—for me. Having people love _you_ romantically makes you feel guilty because you can't return everyone's love. Everyone would get hurt." He paused. "… Take, for instance, my time being with Allen. I was still figuring things out." He tossed aside folded clothes as he spoke. "We flirted. We recognized we liked each other. We got into a romantic relationship. And that night I instantly regretted it."

"… What happened?"

"He returned my feelings."

Arthur stared down at a dictionary, perplexed. "But… Doesn't everyone want to be loved? To be in a relationship like that?"

"I'm not _everyone,_ Arthur. I don't even have a say in it." He sighed. "Which is…fine. Allen's still bitter over it, but… I ended it a month or so after it started. I couldn't stand the thought of forcing Allen to stay in a loveless relationship, and I really missed our friendship. I missed loving him."

Arthur felt hints of jealousy course through his veins. "And right now?"

"Well, he's pissed me off, so I'm not speaking to him until he's properly apologized. But I do love him again. How could I not?" He dropped another pair of jeans on top of the first pair. "But my point is, you need to do what's best for yourself and then what's best for those close to you. I broke up with Allen because I'd hate him if we stayed together. I hated that feeling. And he'd be slowly destroyed if we stayed together, too. It was difficult, but we're able to be friends and get along now." A third pair of jeans fell on the second. "You see, I float, too, but only because I prefer existing on a different plane from everyone else. I _like_ living on a different layer, not relating to those around me, or getting tangled up in the things I see as pointless and they see as life-fulfilling."

"So why do I float? The guilt?"

Oliver nodded emphatically. "Mhm. It's a coping mechanism. If you planted your feet firmly on the ground and refused to float off instead of relying on other people to pull you back down, then you'd have to face your guilt and find out what it meant."

"I'm not scared to face anything."

"So why're you floating?"

Arthur gripped a history book and placed it beside an anthology in the box. "I'm not scared."

"I don't believe you." Oliver heard Arthur smack a book down. The corners of his lips tugged into an amused smile. He couldn't help but enjoy Arthur's fighting spirit. He thought he'd never see it. "Do you have any thoughts about rooming next semester? We're supposed to sign up in the next couple weeks." An image of taking Arthur under his wing came to mind. Truthfully, Arthur could use a break from romance. Once Oliver dropped romance, his life improved tremendously. So Arthur's should, too, right?

"Yeah," Arthur murmured. "I decided to room on the first floor of the Studios."

Oliver lifted an eyebrow. "First floor? Well, it's practical, but claustrophobic, isn't it?"

Arthur stacked another book. "Yeah."


	16. Chapter 16

Half Baked

Chapter 16

"So you helped Oli pack?"

Arthur stared at the ceiling of his dorm room. "… Yeah." He pulled his blanket partway over his body and nuzzled his head against his pillow. His eyes fell onto Alfred who leaned a shoulder against his bed frame. "It was a lot."

"Yeah, no shit," Alfred murmured, his voice void of any bite or ill-will. "You were gone for, like, hours."

"Sorry."

"No, it's—" Alfred's mouth fell closed, and he stared through the window at the night sky. "You don't have to apologize. I was just…wondering where you went is all. Didn't you get any of my texts?"

"Mhm, all twelve."

"Okay, and you didn't text back. There a reason why?" Alfred lifted an eyebrow, and he gave Arthur a stern expression.

Arthur's tired eyes fell on Alfred.

Alfred's stern expression shied away.

"Sorry. I'm just. I'm really tired. Oliver had so much to pack. It seemed like it'd never end, and he's so cryptic." Arthur rubbed his eyes, annoyed with how often he had to say the word 'sorry.' "He was…" Arthur sighed and stared up at the ceiling again. "He kept talking about floating and guilt and love and how much he hates it."

"Think he's a Disney villain?"

Arthur let out a sudden huff of a laugh, and his lips tugged into a tentative smile. "People who hate love don't have to be Disney villains."

"Okay, but he seems like he'd have a lot of fun being a Disney villain."

Thoughts of Oliver decked out in some pastel, feathered, over-the-top garb filled Arthur's head. He laughed softly. "Let's make him Aphrodite."

"'Cause he thinks love's shit?"

"Yeah. For the irony." Arthur grinned at the thought. "He'd be so grumpy about it." His head fell to the side, and a tiny glimmer of something other than a dismal abyss twinkled in his eyes. "You know, he was talking about himself like he was a god or something. Saying things like… He lived on a different plane of existence."

Alfred's relaxed face instantly grew perplexed. "What's that mean? I mean. He's weird, but not…different-dimension weird."

Arthur watched Alfred with a contemplative gaze. Oliver seemed to grasp the Other Layer so easily—so much so that Arthur thought he understood it himself just as easily. While Al and Alfred tripped over social norms and fought them, Oliver seemed to glide through the mess—and guide Arthur through it—almost like taking the boat over an ocean no one else saw. "I… Alfred, you're… You keep your feet firmly on the ground, right?"

"Uh… Yeah. I do." Alfred crossed his arms and rested them against Arthur's bed frame. "Why wouldn't I? You can't keep 'em anywhere else."

"Well, yes, but you never feel like you're…floating?" Arthur rolled over and propped himself up with his elbows pressed into his mattress. "You're not someone who floats."

"People can't float. Unless they're in water or like. Some shit like that."

Arthur's eyelids slipped ever so slightly, and, through Arthur's eyes, Alfred watched Arthur's mind glide away.

"Hey," Alfred murmured, and he gave Arthur's arm a squeeze.

A flicker of minor realization ghosted through Arthur's eyes.

"Oli's weird. He doesn't know shit. All this talk about floating's just confusing you."

Arthur watched Alfred before folding his arms against his pillow and resting his head on them. "But I feel it. All the time. I feel…" He shook his head lightly. "I feel a thousand miles away when you're right here."

"… You wanna…run away from me?"

"No, no. It's. I can't help it. I just can't focus on the moment. It's. I'm floating."

"I don't get it."

Arthur tugged his blanket further over his shoulders. "Turn out the light, would you? We can talk about it in the car tomorrow. Don't worry about it."

Alfred's gaze drifted towards the light switch, not quite wanting to leave the situation as is. After a moment, he trudged over to the light switch, flicked it off, and climbed into his own bed. The moon's glow hummed through the window just vividly enough to give Alfred a general understanding of the room's layout—the room he and Arthur would leave forever after check-out tomorrow.

"Night, Arthur."

"Night."

* * *

Arthur's eyes flew open when Alfred slammed the driver's side door closed. His startled expression softened and then formed into an annoyed look. After helping to haul their things down to the parking garage across the street, Arthur had gravitated towards the passenger's seat, had buckled himself in, and dozed off as Alfred tied things down in the truck's trunk. Alfred gave Arthur a nervous grin and looked back to the trunk through the back window. Arthur's gaze followed Alfred's, and a sense of relief came over him when he saw that Alfred had remembered to secure down the tarp.

Arthur gave Alfred a brief, half-attempted smile to assure him that, yes, he was annoyed, but it wouldn't last long. … Or… It was a 'you did a good job' smile. Maybe. Arthur settled back in the passenger's seat and rested his head against the window as his eyes slipped closed.

Alfred buckled in and glanced ahead at their dorm building. A wave of memories swept over him: Arthur's excitement when they first got into their dorm, Arthur's insistence that any décor had to have a function, Arthur's insistence that they keep things clean, Arthur's anger towards him… Alfred looked to Arthur and cautiously rested a hand on Arthur's thigh. He winced, showing the same concern he'd show if he touched a stove eye to see if it was hot.

Arthur's eyes opened ever so slightly, and he watched Alfred's hand. A corner of his lips tugged into a half-smile before he closed his eyes, wanting to nap.

Alfred's grip gradually tightened as he focused on Arthur's lips.

Arthur's small smile fell into a frown, and he pressed a hand against Alfred's just enough to show his annoyance.

Alfred lifted his hand and gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead as anger burned him. Arthur didn't bite his lip. He didn't even smile—not really. Fuck. His index finger tapped against the wheel with the same pace as a furious cat's flicking tail. What, was he annoying Arthur somehow? Is that why he was running away through a nap? Or…

Alfred sighed.

Arthur was…probably upset still. Arthur had cried in front of him before; he was used to it. Alfred always hushed Arthur's upset moods and smothered them as if he was trying to suffocate a lit match with a blanket. Tears were bad. That's all he knew. Whenever Arthur had tears running down his cheeks, all Alfred could think of was that scrawny 13-year-old kid sobbing his heart out in a dark, dirty bathroom—like a ghost that haunted him.

Alfred's eyes darted to glance at Arthur to make sure he was really in college. Yup, still 18. Asleep. Dry eyes. Bottom lip—not bitten.

Alfred's forehead rested on his steering wheel.

Christ. How'd Al do it? Arthur's emotional state was Alfred's responsibility for all of five seconds before Alfred let him down. What kind of magic did Al have that made Arthur relax so much? Alfred was the one that knew him for a decade! What the hell?

Alfred glared at their dorm building, and, for a second, he thought about heading back inside, demanding to know what tricks Al used to soothe Arthur.

"Alfred..? What's wrong?"

Alfred looked to the hints of worry that began to glimmer in Arthur's eyes. Alfred shook off the feeling of incompetence. "Nothing. Go back to sleep. Trip's gonna be boring if you're awake for it."

Arthur winced. "Thanks."

"… It's— I know you're tired. It's better for you to sleep. So sleep."

"Sure," Arthur murmured before settling back down to his nap.

With another look at the dorm building, Alfred started his truck and peeled out of the parking garage.


	17. Chapter 17

Half Baked

Chapter 17

A knock against his dorm door startled Oliver out of his thoughts. His eyes slid past the piles of boxes that lined the walls of his room. Oliver huffed and walked towards the door. A smile appeared on his face when he thought about Arthur standing on the other side. Without a second to lose, he opened the door, and his grin fell.

Al gave Oliver a hesitant smile. "Heya…Oliver."

"Have you come to curse at me for existing?"

"No— No, no. Nothing like that." Al waved his hands in surrender. "No. Um. Nah. I'm…" He took in a stabilizing breath and sighed. "I'm sorry. For the fight, for my anger getting out of hand, for giving you a hard time. I don't…like fighting with you. Y'know?"

"…I know." Oliver crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. "I feel similarly. …Allen, you know that I love you—"

"Yeah, but—"

"—unconditionally. Breathe easy. I want you and Arthur together—happy. That's what would make _me_ happy." He reached out a hand and idly straightened Al's shirt collar. "I know it's weird and hard to understand, but think of it as… Your happiness means my happiness. You don't owe me anything."

"I don't owe you anything?"

Oliver's fingers froze before his hand retreated back and gripped his sweater. "Well— Yes. And… I… I'm sorry that I used…you. So to speak. To figure myself out. I should've told you from the start that I wasn't sure about how I feel romantic feelings. And I'm sorry for this situation with Arthur and his hopeless, unhealthy devotion to Alfred."

Al nodded softly and held out a hand. "Alright. If you're cool with it, I consider us even."

Oliver's lips tugged into a relaxed smile. "No more bad blood?"

"No more bad blood."

Oliver shook Al's outstretched hand, relieved, and he crossed his arms again. "Did you apologize to me because I'm the easiest?"

"Uh, well. Yeah. You're not… You don't burst into tears."

A wave of confusion washed over him, and at first he was amused. "Arthur bursts into tears?" And then highly concerned. "… Arthur bursts into tears? Allen, that's—is he a crybaby or is something wrong?"

Allen scratched his neck and glanced away. "I just think his nerves are shot all to…heck."

Oliver's smile cautiously returned. "I'll give him a call to let him know you're coming over." He slid his phone out of his pocket.

"No, no—" Al backed off. "I'm just gonna go. Don't warn him. I'm gonna ask him about rooming next semester, too. After he forgives me—hopefully."

Oliver spoke as he found Arthur's number, selected it, and pressed his phone to his ear. "He's living on the first floor next year. He told me."

Al's body fell against the wall, and he looked to Oliver with anguish in his eyes. "What? But— He can't room on the first floor. It's bad for him!"

"Mhm. Ah, Arthur, hello. I was going to visit. Are you decent?" He paused, listening to Arthur's half-asleep tone. "… Ah. You've. Alright, you've gone already."

Al tensed.

"No, it's fine. I'll see you in the fall. Same building. Yes." Oliver's eyes fell on Al, and he grinned. "Oh, Allen wanted to talk with you, by the way. I've got him here with me. Yes."

Al's eyes widened, and he guided Oliver's phone out of his hand. He pressed it to his ear. "Arthur? Hey, Arthur?"

Oliver's phone beeped.

Al pulled it back to see that Arthur had hung up. His tense expression faded into defeat. He held the phone back to Oliver.

Oliver's thumb nuzzled his phone's edge. "… Give him time."

"He chose Alfred."

"Well… For now." Oliver slipped his phone back into his pocket and rested a hand against Al's shoulder to comfort him. "Just…take a step back and think about it. This is the perfect time for this to happen. You'll be apart from each other, and, as a result, you'll miss each other more."

"… Really?"

"Yes. You've conditioned him to miss you. Good job."

"That sounds super evil." Al sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't do it on purpose. I just really like hanging out with him. I had time, and he had time. So we hung out."

"You've conditioned him."

"Not on purpose! If I conditioned him, he conditioned me!" He let out a huff. "Is this your weird way of looking at love?"

Oliver's lips curled into a smile. "Love's just chemicals in the brain, Allen. It's not magic. It's not extraordinary. But I'm glad you and everyone else can enjoy it like it's the key to ultimate happiness." However annoying it was.

"You sound a little bitter, Cupid."

"Ach, I hate love."

Al gave Oliver a brief, half-hearted smile.

Oliver lifted his chin and let out a tiny sigh before giving Al's shoulder another pat.

The silence hung over them.

"… Allen."

"Hm?"

"We should room together next year. Floor 14 in the Studios." Oliver's fingers fiddled with hints of nervousness. "It'll benefit me, you, and Matt. I'll get a singles. You and Matt could share a doubles. We'd only see each other in our dorm room's living room and kitchen."

"And bathroom."

"We're not showering together." Unless Al wanted to. Maybe. Oliver shook his head to dismiss the thought. "Stop joking. Just for right now. Please. I know a large amount of money is hard to come by so splitting the costs with two people is more cost effective than splitting with just one person."

"So you wanna fight every day?"

Oliver's shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "No. I asked you to stop joking."

"Sorry." Al patted Oliver's head. "Oliver, I'm sorry. I'd like rooming together. I think it'd be nice. We'll be friends. Roommates."

Oliver clicked his tongue. "We'll be enemies: roommates."

Al chuckled, not quite comforted, but feeling much less destroyed than a few minutes ago.


	18. Chapter 18

Half Baked

Chapter 18

Arthur collapsed against the guest bed, exhausted from the trip. He'd managed to stay half-asleep the whole way to Alfred's parents' lake house. At least Alfred bent over backwards for him—he was unloading the truck, giving Arthur a moment to take in his lodgings for the next few months. Arthur stared up at the still ceiling fan.

The soft glow of the afternoon sun streamed into his room through the trees' canopy. The heat hung in the air, so heavy and stale that Arthur could almost lick it. The only sounds that dared to bother Arthur were the birds' screeches outside and Alfred's grunts from the garage. Each bin that thumped against the ground made Arthur think about a nearby thunderstorm. Arthur desperately wished for a few raindrops to cut the oppressive heat.

His eyes slipped closed, and he inhaled.

The sharp smell of wood forced its way through his senses. Wood walls, wood floors, wood ceilings. The lake house resembled more of a cabin than a rich kid's play place. The scent of recently washed flowers eased up from the bedsheets.

He exhaled, and his eyes slipped open.

Arthur would guess Alfred's parents had the place cleaned a week or so ago.

The guest bedroom's door smacked against the wall with a bang, stabbing Arthur's senses. Alfred barged in and pressed his hands into the mattress. He stared down at Arthur with a semi-tired grin.

Arthur's privacy bubble shattered.

"Hey, I'm gonna go on a booze run, but I gotta pick up Gil first. Wanna come with?"

A weight of annoyance and exhaustion pressed against Arthur's body, keeping him chained beneath Alfred. "No." His eyebrows pulled together in concern. "What's the alcohol for?"

A surge of excitement ran through Alfred's expression. "The End-of-the-Year bash! T'celebrate getting through freshman year. We're gonna have booze, fireworks, food, video games—just like my graduation party, remember?"

Despite the joy bubbling in Alfred's eyes, a sharp pain punctured Arthur's potential comfort. "You're recreating your high school graduation party."

"Yeah, it's gonna be fun!"

"Mm."

"I'll be back in like an hour or some shit." Alfred lifted off of Arthur's bed and sprinted out of the room, swinging the door shut behind him.

Arthur's eyes slipped closed. He drew in some of the hot, sticky air for a sigh, but nearly choked when Alfred slammed the door open again.

"You're sure you don't wanna come? I'll let you choose a beer—whatever you want."

Arthur lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes at Alfred through his upside-down view.

Alfred's eyes flickered back and forth ever so slightly, searching for some type of answer other than 'emphatically no,' but he couldn't find one. His shoulders lifted in a hesitant, half-hearted shrug before he stepped back and pulled the door closed with a 'click.'

Arthur's body fell slack, and his eyes slipped closed. He breathed in the hot air and released it without a shred alleviation. Alfred's overly enthused footfalls echoed throughout the open-concept lake house, giving Arthur a fairly good idea of how much farther he had to go until he'd finally manage to make it into his car to leave.

One, two, three…four…fiveSIXSEVENEIGHTNIneten, eleven, twelve, thir…thir…thirteen…fourteen… Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Door.

Arthur let out an exasperated huff. Hints of relief attempted to fill him as Alfred's truck sped off. Arthur thought about teetering in and out of sleep. Maybe it'd be a good idea.

His eyes opened, and his abs tightened as he sat up. Arthur put all his efforts into standing and then prying his window open. It was all of five degrees cooler outside, and Arthur intended to take advantage of it. He flicked on the ceiling fan and stepped out of his room into the lake house living room. Making a beeline for the balcony, Arthur cut through the sunken lounge area and pried open the sliding glass doors.

The wind slid through the open space and begged for Arthur to hurry outside.

Once he'd pushed the door open just enough, he forced his body through the tight space and leaned on the balcony railing. He glanced to his right to see the deck pool. Why Alfred's family needed a pool at their lake house, Arthur had no idea.

He shifted to his left a few steps so the shade would protect him. Arthur's gaze fell downhill. Images of falling 20 feet and rolling down that hill flooded his thoughts as the wind blew his bangs every which way.

Arthur's phone vibrated in his pocket, sending him into a temporary shock. He mentally cursed, assuming Alfred was on the line. Even when Alfred wasn't in his vicinity, he found a way to break the peace Arthur tried to carefully cultivate. Arthur accepted the call without looking at the name and pressed his phone to his ear. "Yes?"

"Ah, Arthur—"

It was Oliver.

"—hello. I was going to visit. Are you decent?"

Arthur's nerves slackened. Oliver was _far_ easier to talk to than Alfred was. "Yes. But we've already checked out and gone. I'm sorry."

"Ah. You've. Alright, you've gone already."

"Mhm… I'm sorry," Arthur apologized, sincerity evident in his tone.

"No, it's fine. I'll see you in the fall."

"Oh, in the same building? The Studios?"

"Same building. Yes." Mirth bubbled in Oliver's voice. "Oh, Allen wanted to talk with you, by the way."

The uncomfortable weight of Alfred's presence shot off into space, and hope (as well as panic) clung to Arthur. "Wh— Really?"

"I've got him here with me. Yes."

Arthur's nails dug into the wood deck as his other hand gripped his phone. Oliver's phone passed between hands—

"Arthur—"

Instantly, Arthur hung up. His heart thrummed in his chest, and he stared down the hill with such intensity he thought he may set it on fire.

The thought of Al running up the hill towards him entered his mind. Al would breathe heavily as he tried to scale the steep slope, using the trees to shove himself forward. He'd wave up to Arthur with a delighted grin on his face, and he'd think to yell. Al wouldn't do it, though. He wouldn't risk grabbing Alfred's attention. Al would try and throw his voice. And fail. Then he'd get the bright idea of using their cell phones to whisper to each other as the twin glows framed their jaws and necks. Al would ask for a rope or an escape ladder. He'd say they should take a walk. Arthur would shake his head; going for a walk on the lakeside just past sunset was a terrible idea unless they liked the idea of being eaten alive by mosquitoes and tripping into every ditch they came across.

 _Arthur, Arthur, let down a rope,_ he'd joke.

And Arthur would find the escape ladder and throw the excess over the side of the balcony for Al to climb up. Once Al made it up, he'd hold Arthur in a hug—not too long, not too tight.

Arthur stared down at the blades of grass and at the hill, void of humans. As his thoughts played out his own fairy tale, Arthur bit his lip.


	19. Chapter 19

Half Baked

Chapter 19

Alfred's eyes opened when Gil knocked on the car's trunk. Alfred lifted his head from the steering wheel and glanced through the back windshield to see Gil lift a box of booze. He leaned down and yanked the trunk lever before leaning back against his seat.

Gil loaded each box one by one. Each box's landing was punctuated with a thump.

Alfred pulled his cell from his pocket and began sending out messages to every friend he knew as a walking party. The End of School Year Bash is a week from today, he'd text. And then he'd rethink the word 'bash' seeing as it tries too hard to be cool.

Gil slammed the trunk closed before settling into the passenger's seat. He dug his nails through his hair in seconds to shake off the strength he needed to lift the booze. He looked to Alfred who hadn't looked up from his phone.

Alfred's phone screen timed out.

Gil's eyes traveled between Alfred's pensive gaze and Alfred's darkened screen. He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the boredom seep in. "Hey," he spoke up, weakening the silence. "You watching invisible porn?"

Alfred's eyes tore away from his screen. "What? No. Nah. It's." He let out a groan. "Gil, I fucking— I dunno what to do. I fucking don't."

Gil pressed his head against his head rest. "Want a beer?"

Alfred frowned, annoyed with the dumb suggestion.

"Not in the car." Gil gave him an amused grin. "Drive to the lake, stupid. We'll sit on the hood and have a beer."

Alfred opened his mouth.

" _I'll_ have a beer. You can stare at the water."

Alfred's mouth closed.

Gil buckled himself in and took Alfred's phone, resting it in his lap. "We'll talk about touchy-feely junk after we make the mood."

"… Yeah. Sure." Alfred threw his concentration into driving out of the package store's parking lot. The car hummed with life as it traveled, and Alfred's thoughts only vaguely paid attention to his immediate surroundings—just enough to keep him on the path to the lake. On the path. The path to the lake. The path to Arthur—who was at the lake. But. Not to the lake house. Not to Arthur.

Arthur felt about as far away as ever.

But he could've just been tired. And cranky from the drive. Nothing wrong with that.

Alfred's foot dug into the brake pedal when he'd realized the light was red.

Gil froze and shook his head, turning off the radio. "Alright. Guess we're doing this now."

"So what the fuck does Arthur want me to do?" Alfred immediately picked up where his thought process left off. "It makes sense that he'd be cranky after that drive, but like he's been cold for a little while? It's like he wants to ditch me or something."

"Wait, wait, Fart Kirkland?"

"I swear to fuck—"

"Chill, chill. I'm not giving him shit. It's just a pet name."

"It's a shitty pet name. Call him Arthur, or I'll make you eat my fist."

Gil let out a snicker. "Alright. So Arthur's got you running in circles?"

Alfred pressed the accelerator, continuing on the path to the lake. He shrugged and stuttered for a moment before launching off into more out-loud thoughts, "Yeah, I don't fucking know. I want to know what's up with him. I wanna know why he's being cranky. He's my boyfriend for fuck's sake. I should know."

Gil went silent, deciding not to open up the subject of Alfred's fresh discovery in his sexuality. "… You said the car ride could've done it."

"Well, yeah, but he's been weird since before the car ride."

"Okay, what's different?"

Alfred let out a frustrated huff and stared at the road. "Everything was great. It was fine! Then he started hanging with some fast-talking player, and then I hardly got to see him! It's like he was trying to run away from me or something!"

"So, he started hanging out with your copy?"

"What?"

"Fast-talking player. That's you, right?" Gil's mirth shined through in his voice. "Taking up all of Arthur's time. … Y'know, it's kind of fucked up you're thinking of it like that."

" _What?"_

"What you said. It's like Arthur's trying to run away from you, you said. Isn't that fucked up?" Before Alfred could interrupt, Gil continued on with his thought, "Because if you were worried about Arthur not spending his time wisely, then you'd say that, but you said you think he's trying to 'run away' from you. You're acting like you own the guy."

Alfred's fingers gripped the steering wheel.

"Shit, Alfred. No wonder he's cranky. You're probably smothering him." He gave Alfred a passive hand wave. "Don't worry about it. Just look at him like a person." Gil held back a snicker. "Give him some space. Keep an eye on him at the party." He paused. "Oh, and _then_ get sex."

Alfred coughed, stunned by the forward suggestion. "Give Arthur a week and then get sex. You're fucking _nuts_ if you think it's gonna be that easy."

"Hey, you're boyfriends." Gil shrugged, amused by the situation. "If you give him space for a week, then he'll be begging to jump you."

"Y'know sex isn't my fucking end game. I told you. I just wanna understand him. I don't… I don't want him mad at me. What'll I do? It's like…" Alfred let out a sigh and parked around ten feet away from the lake house garage. He turned off the car and stared ahead at the water. The sound of Arthur's most recent sobs echoed in Alfred's head. "… It's like everything I say and everything I do just…fucks with him."

Gil watched Alfred before he looked out to the shuddering water. "Don't ignore him. Just… If he gets cranky, give him his alone time. You're making too big a deal out of this. You just got a rough start. Listen, you guys have sex whenever you want. Just back off until the party. He hates shit like that, right?"

Alfred's eyes drifted towards the garage. "Shit like?"

"Like your friends. Like parties. He doesn't like fun."

"Gonna punch you."

Gil smiled. "Just kidding. But he doesn't like it. He worries too much to like parties. So that's when he'll need you. Be there for him then when he can't get away on his own. Okay?"

Alfred tapped a finger against the steering wheel a few times in thought and nodded stiffly.

"Great. Are we gonna unload now?"

Alfred pulled out his key and grabbed his phone from Gil's lap. "Yeah."


	20. Chapter 20

Half Baked

Chapter 20

Before me stands Idiot staring off over a cliff and at the churning fog below.

His vision sees nothing but red and streaks of grey; the thin, brick wall stands between him and the luminescent abyss.

Streaks of air sink into my being as billions of fleeting lights rise from the fog like dead sharks floating to the ocean's surface.

Idiot's shoes are the earth, and dying stars cling to his hair. His light dies slowly—slow as the fireflies or glowing gnats that drift higher and higher on currents of whateverthefuck.

I stand on smoke.

Or on the layer of air above the smoke.

Behind him.

Behind Idiot.

A fish grabs my hand or body or head and collects me above.

Idiot stays planted until his cliff falls out of existence, and I gasp for breath.

A fish pulls my head above the waves of dead, glowing gnats or plumes of marigolds. Felines composed of sharp angles and bursts of sun fill the sky as the Earth set. Echoes of gulls hum by my ears and devolve into shrieks as I lift.

Marigolds fall from my shoulders past my toes and back into the sea above the foggy abyss. I stand on the field of stars, going nearly blind as fire felines flee below the horizon. My mortal feet brush by Aldebaran, Betelgeuse, and Sirius before my mortal hand dips into Draco's folds. Dusts of minute worlds cling to my arm and take in breaths of light.

Smoke grasps my ankle and slinks up my leg before the mouth of a shark emerges and sinks its teeth across my navel like a frowning crescent moon. The worlds which cling to my arm tug me up until the teeth peel strips of dripping red down my groin.

Thunder rumbles through my heart and through the pitch skies, and the marigolds' glow forces rivers to spill from my eyes.

My legs fall from me and split before both they and the shark dip back into the yellow sea, down to the brick wall, down to the foggy abyss. The minute worlds twist my body, and a bed of clouds cradle me.

A sky feline glowing with the crimson streaks of Betelgeuse steps towards me and drags its warm tongue over the shark's marks. The worlds drop flecks of yellow over the sky feline, giving him a crown of honey.

Glimpses of reality grew around me. Walls, windows, doors. The sky feline's ambiguous form shrunk to a defined form, to a lion's, to another Idiot's. His eyes, playful and warm, watch me as I feel my legs again and as the shark's marks shrink to scars.

I bite my lip.

* * *

Arthur's eyes fell open, and he stared up at the ceiling fan. Confusion entered his gaze, and he sat up. The window to his right was dark with night. The door to his left was ajar—just enough to allow hints of man-made light into his dim room. Distant laughter barely made it to Arthur's ears.

The lake house. Right.

Arthur glanced down to see the blankets had been thrown over him, and his shoes rested by the closet door. The fan's gentle breeze, despite its best efforts, couldn't keep the heat at bay. Arthur climbed out of bed and yanked off his clothes, dropping each article to the ground. He fell back against the bed once only his underwear remained.

His eyebrows drew together as he tried to remember his dream. All he could glean from his memory was a deep, pulsing ache. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. If his dream was really so important; he'd remember it. He grabbed a large shirt and pulled it on as he stepped out of his room.

The main living area was void of human life save for the lone pizza box on the counter and the paper plate beside it. Arthur glanced to the sliding glass doors as he stepped to the kitchen.

Two extension cords led outside to where the laughter and music radiated from.

Arthur's gaze drifted to the oven clock to see it was two in the morning. He sighed, annoyed with himself for sleeping so long. He rested a hand on the pizza box lid and read the scrawled message on the lid out loud: "Arthur, here's dinner. Would've woke you, but you were asleep—" He rolled his eyes at the wording, though he truthfully was slightly grateful he was allowed to sleep, "—Alfred. Heart." His lips twitched into a tired smile. They likely didn't get a flavor he'd be alright with, but it's the thought that counts. He could just pick off whatever he didn't like.

Arthur lifted the lid to find a smaller box inside. Alfred had scribbled eyebrows onto the smaller lid as well as another note: "Didn't know which one you wanted. Sorry."

Arthur opened the smaller box, finding a small cheese pizza completely untouched. Well. It was plain, but…

Arthur sighed.

They hadn't gotten pizza together in a long time. No wonder Alfred didn't know. Arthur set the oven to 375 degrees and closed the small pizza box before sliding the glass door open enough so he could step outside.

To his utmost dismay and shock, he saw Gilbert, and his body tensed in reaction. Ever since _That,_ he'd hated Gil's guts and his influence over Alfred.

Gil's eyes glanced from the TV to Arthur. "Hey, Art's up." He pressed the pause button on his controller and set it down on the wooden deck.

"Arthur," Arthur stated. He took notice of what _exactly_ Alfred and Gil had done. The two of them were sitting in the sunken hot tub with their elbows propped up on the deck. A TV which clawed its way out of the year 2005 was precariously sitting on a deck lounge chair with a gaming system below it. Colorful light poured over Gil and Alfred as they played whatever party game they chose to kill time with. "… Alfred, what are you doing?"

"Playing video games," he murmured hesitantly, unsure of how Arthur would react.

"We would've just played them on the big TV, but you were sleeping. Alfred here didn't want to wake you up. He said you'd be crabby." Gil snickered before Alfred gave him a small shove.

"I didn't say that. I said Arthur wouldn't like being woken up."

"And he'd be crabby."

"Shut up—"

"Alfred, it's fine. I don't care." Arthur rubbed his eyes. He figured out what Alfred meant—that Alfred knew he wouldn't want to be disturbed. "Could you bring it all inside? Before you die?"

"It's not gonna take us that long to pick up a TV, Arthur," Alfred murmured, slightly offended by the assumption that he was a weakling.

"Yes, but death by electrocution takes a few seconds, right? I'm going to unplug them." Arthur turned and stepped back into the house with Alfred's "wait no"s following after him. "Don't drip water on the electronics," he called back before pulling the plugs. "That's a perfectly good TV!"

He heard Gil and Alfred's groans echo against the trees, and he'd be lying if he said their minor misery bothered him. Alfred and Gil climbed out of the hot tub's opposite side to avoid sloshing water onto their game system and wrapped themselves in towels.

A crisp breeze blew past them as Arthur began carrying the electronics inside.

"Arthur, you don't have to—"

"It's fine. I'm not as scrawny as I look. I'll set the TV in the corner by the fire place, and I can hook up the system to the big TV. I need to do something to wait for the oven anyway."

Alfred watched as Arthur finished carrying everything inside and closed the sliding glass door. Gil placed a freshly-opened beer in Alfred's hand and clinked his own can to Alfred's. "Yeah, he's way less geeky." He took a gulp from his beer.

"Weren't _we_ the ones just playing video games?"

"Everyone plays video games."

"Then everyone's a geek." Alfred took a sip from his beer. "… What do you think? He didn't seem too mad. That nap probably really helped."

"You're still thinking about that?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Arthur's a big part of my life, okay? Sorry if I think about him a lot."

The big TV's reflection appeared in the sliding glass door, and the image flickered as Arthur changed the channels.

Gil watched the light shift on the sliding glass door—from what he could see. "… Be patient. Just be cool. You keep freaking out over nothing."

"The possible break up in my relationship and losing a close friend? That's nothing to you?"

"No offense. It's nothing to _a lot_ of people. I get that it affects you. A lot. But like. Imagine I was struggling over the same thing, and if I kept bringing it up. It'd annoy you, right?"

Alfred only glared in response.

"Hear me out. It'd annoy you, _right?"_

Alfred nodded softly.

"It's annoying because the answer's obvious. You're running in circles with your head cut off, but everyone else only sees you got a tiny cut on your neck. You can't force Arthur to do anything. You can't force him to leave you. You can't force him to fuck you. Whatever. All you can do is be a good boyfriend, right?"

Alfred nodded softly, though his glare had died down.

Gil took a gulp of his beer. "So be a good boyfriend. Keep giving him his space. Look out for him. Then everything will work out how you want, okay? Stop freaking out."

Alfred stared at the hot tub's gold light shimmering and flickering with the water's erratic shifts.

He took a sip of his beer.


	21. Chapter 21

Half Baked

Chapter 21

"You didn't have to get a job here."

"Don't be silly, Allen. If I wasn't going to work here, then who would you have to talk to?" Oliver paused in his cleaning to glance back at Al.

Al looked up from the dough he was folding and lifted an eyebrow. "My coworkers?"

Oliver's eyes traveled to the rest of the small-town bakery, seeing a grand count of two other people in the building—neither of them customers. "Mhm. You know, baking really sucks you in, doesn't it?" Oliver went back to cleaning the counter and organizing the system behind it.

"Yeah," Al murmured as he continued folding. "It's therapeutic. It's nice. Kinda like playing with clay, but there's more stuff to do with it." His lips pulled into a grin. "And the dough's bouncier."

"Is it keeping your mind off Arthur?"

Al's sounds of scraping dough from the bowl's sides halted.

Oliver stared out at the tables and decided they could use a quick clean.

"Oliver."

"Yes, Allen?"

"I thought we weren't gonna bring Arthur up?"

"Yes, Allen."

"So why're you bringing him up?"

"We're friends." Oliver shrugged and picked up the sanitation cloth. He gripped it and wrung out the extra sanitizing solution into the bright yellow bucket. "I'm friends with Arthur. You're friends with me. You're head over heels for Arthur—it just makes sense to try and talk through your problems concerning him."

"Because you're the local love expert."

Oliver chuckled, stepped out from behind the counter, and began rubbing down the tables. "You learn a lot about a subject you hate when everyone keeps shoving it in your face."

" _You're_ the one that's bringing it up this time."

Oliver smacked a hand down on a table and sent Al an annoyed glare.

"… Yeah. Alright. Comes up too much. Got it. Might as well join in by telling everyone how much of an idiot they are."

"Well, you are!"

An elderly coworker behind the cake counter cleared their throat.

Oliver gave them an apologetic smile and began cleaning his table again. "Well, Allen, you can't argue that people do dumb things when they're in love, and they insist everyone else can feel it, too. They're so self-absorbed. Is it wrong of me to try and make up for the lack of my type of people in the world?"

"Nah." Al slung the ball of dough into a bowl and covered it with cling wrap. "Sorry. I guess I've been… It's been getting to me, but I'm one of the idiots, remember?"

"Yeah."

Al set the first ball of dough aside and set another couple bowls in his workspace. He watched the analog clock on the wall, contemplating. "… What can I do? Like this? I… I really wanna be friends with him again, but I'm not even gonna see him until September. And that's if he even wants to see me."

"Well… The places we are aren't _too_ far away. With a dedicated drive, you two could meet each other." Oliver rubbed particularly hard at a spot on the table. "I mean— I think. He's just up at the lake. It's around a two-hour drive. Not that bad."

"Okay, but how am I gonna look if I take my car up there and surprise him? He hung up on me."

Oliver sighed.

After a couple seconds, Al coated the empty bowl with oil and set it aside before picking up a smaller bowl with yeast and salt. He poured the yeast and salt mix evenly in the water-and-flour mix bowl.

"I'll keep texting with him to make sure things are moving along in his forgiving process, but you'll have to entertain the idea that he may not want to be friends." Oliver's rubbing slowed to a stop. "I just…don't want to see you destroy yourself over this. … Maybe that's why it's all so infuriating to me… People will screw their entire lives up and force themselves into unhappiness just because someone doesn't return their feelings. It's… It's madness. It's… I _love_ not being a part of it, but it's so _frustrating_ watching the people you love willingly… I don't know! Willingly chug a bottle of acid or something!"

Al stared at Oliver with clear, undeniable worry in his eyes.

Oliver looked to Al for a moment before his body flinched in understanding. "Not that someone I love has actually chugged acid. I meant. Metaphorically. You know."

Al's eyes gradually fell back onto his work, and he picked up his dough spatula. He mumbled to himself as he folded over the dough and twisted the bowl at a mechanical pace.

"…Allen?"

Al didn't pause in his movements, but he spoke up. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it."

Oliver remained locked in his position, leaning over a table with his hand wet and pressed into the sanitation cloth as he stared at Al who was shrouded in the dimmer kitchen. A wall of afternoon sun poured inside between them. "… Allen, you know my happiness is your happiness, right? And—same for Arthur. As well. Alfred can go choke on a—" He glanced to the elderly coworkers, "—…a meatball." His eyes flew back to Al. "And Matt, too. I'd like for Matt to be happy, but he's not the one struggling here. He's as fine as I am."

"Alright, so?" Al stared at the mix inside the bowl, occasionally glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Thanks. I want you to be happy, too."

"Do you?"

Al froze and looked over the counter at Oliver. "Yeah. Is that even a question? You think I don't give a shit about you?"

"No, no, I know you care." Oliver finished cleaning off the table he was on and quickly worked on another. "I meant that— That's not your overall goal in life. My goal is to make those around me happy because that fuels _me._ I love making people happy; that's where I find _my_ happiness. What do you feel?"

"Oliver, I don't think now's the time to talk about existential…junk."

"Okay, well, if you're not going to talk about things that deeply affect you during the Dead Shift, then when are you?"

"The dead shift."

"Yes, the Dead Shift." Oliver sat up and gestured towards the empty seating area around him. "The time between the lunch rush and the dinner rush? It's so small here; there's so many old people."

The elderly coworkers cleared their throats again. Bless them.

Oliver bit his bottom lip and leaned over the tables to finish the section. "Not that that's a bad thing by any means. People just eat earlier around here, and we're a bakery mainly. So despite our soups and sandwiches, we're not as popular after noon."

"Which bakery have you've been working in?" Al chuckled to himself as he continued folding over the dough. "You forgetting about the morning rush and our homemade recipes?"

"Yes, yes, you don't have to sell me on it, Allen. I'm already here." Oliver finished up the booths and headed back behind the counter. "So. Your hopes and dreams and aspirations." The sanitation cloth fell in the sanitation bucket, and Oliver leaned against the counter.

Al sighed and stared down as the mix absorbed the yeast and salt. "I want… I dunno. I wanna make it through college. Get a degree in something generic so I can get a job in anything. … And I want Arthur to be happy. I wanna be happy with him, but… I just want him safe and happy. It's just… _really_ frustrating that I can't pick him up and put him in a different room and just have everything be fine like watching a toddler."

"It's that easy to watch a toddler?"

"S'easier than watching an 18-year-old destroy himself."

"Allen."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Oliver watched Al turn the bowl and fold the dough with precise movements. "Well. You're not wrong." He reached his hand into the sanitation bucket and picked up the sanitation cloth again before squeezing all the excess liquid out of it. "But it's not for forever. Arthur's smart. Despite his…recent decisions. And you haven't exactly made it easy on him."

"Okay, don't pretend you didn't encourage me to deck Alfred."

"Yes. I did ask you to punch him for me in addition to your punch, but I never asked you to try and bruise his kidneys." Oliver tossed the sanitation cloth in the trash. "He's just…scared right now. Focus on yourself. Cross the Arthur Bridge when you come to it. You're good at being honest and swallowing your pride when you have to. Arthur's the type of person to appreciate that. Just focus on what makes you happy."

Al scraped the dough spatula around the sides of the bowl and kept folding.

Oliver stepped past the dimmer veil of dark into the kitchen and rested a hand on Al's back. He looked down at Al's hands working through the dough as he folded it.

Al paused and looked to Oliver.

Oliver gave him a soft smile and patted his back.

Al focused on folding.

"Tell me more," Oliver murmured, "about why you like it."


	22. Chapter 22

Half Baked

Chapter 22

"You'll stay within my view the whole time, right?" Arthur called out to Alfred as he stood on the shoddy, public dock.

Alfred, who sat on a Jet Ski in the water, nodded and gave Arthur a thumbs up and a smile. He called back to Arthur, "No problem! Just read a book or something!"

"Don't stay out too long! It's going to rain later!"

"Sure!"

With that, the Jet Ski's engine hummed, and Alfred darted off over the open water. Arthur sat down on the portable lounge seat he'd brought with him. He glanced up across the bay to see Alfred's parents' lake house before watching Alfred zip further away over the water. Arthur's eyes drifted up towards the gray skies. Hints of the sun peeked through, but were dwindling. The public dock along with the rest of their side of the lake almost glowed in the low light from the lack of afternoon sun.

Arthur's phone rested on the open book in his lap. It chirped. Arthur picked up his phone and lit up the screen to see a message from Oliver. The heavy shadow in his chest lifted, and he read Oliver's message:

 _How have you been?_

Arthur selected the text box and swiped his thumb over his keyboard before sending his message:

 _It's only been a few days._

Arthur's eyes drifted up to see Alfred still making sharp turns. His phone chirped. He read Oliver's message:

 _Just a couple days short of a week. How have you been?_

Arthur could almost hear the concern in Oliver's voice. He smiled and typed out his response:

 _Fine. Alfred's done me a great disservice by bringing Gilbert over to hang out with. He seems to be less of a prick, but I'm still on guard._

Arthur sent his message and darkened his screen. He looked at the water, and his nose scrunched ever so slightly. The thought of not being able to see anything under the water disturbed him. Arthur's phone chirped.

The darker clouds over the horizon promised rain and thunder, but until then Alfred insisted on having the wind blow past him and tearing across the lake on the family Jet Ski. Hints of the water flecked against his arms and legs as the safety coil whipped around in the wind. Alfred's hearing was filled with nothing but the roar of the Jet Ski and the chorus of water splashing. He looked back at the splash trail behind him, imagining the shadows in the water transforming into monsters.

He whipped his gaze forward again and saw a boat far off.

What sort of explosion would happen if he ran into it? How wide would the fire reach? Would there even be an explosion? Would he cut through the boat's side like a gigantic can opener?

Alfred's fingers gradually lifted, slowly releasing the accelerator. The Jet Ski slowed to a stop, and the only elements keeping Alfred in the moment were his senses. The Jet Ski lifted and dipped with the lake's gentle waves. The breeze brushed against him, and he stared down at his lap.

Just one night.

Just one more night and he'd be able to get closer to Arthur again. He'd been doing better, Alfred figured. Arthur seemed more relaxed. His heart began sinking. Why would Arthur need so much time by himself to relax if he could actively relax with Al?

Alfred gripped the Jet Ski's handlebar until his knuckles turned white. His right hand clutched the accelerator, shooting the Jet Ski across the lake. Alfred glared at the water while he shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind.

He looked between the handle bar and the waves he created behind him before gently turning the handlebar. His turns grew into tighter donuts, and he wondered how it felt to make such tight turns until he felt the rush of air and the sudden onslaught of water. Alfred kicked his legs wildly until his head reached the lake's surface. He gasped in air and stared at the Jet Ski around twelve feet away.

The water's different consistencies rubbed against his body, sending a shiver down his spine. Alfred hooked his arms into the water and kicked his legs, swimming closer to the Jet Ski. He imagined a shark swiping his leg and another brushing its fin across his navel.

What if an alligator could drag him under?

Alfred worked to suppress his imagination as his nails dug into the seat handle. He pulled himself up and settled on the seat. He rubbed his eyes and sighed before looking to the dock.

Arthur, a faceless humanoid far away, stood rigid and empty-handed, terrified for Alfred's safety.

Alfred lifted an arm and gave Arthur an unmistakable wave and a thumbs up despite the frown he wore. Like Alfred, Arthur wouldn't be able to see his face—what he really felt—but Arthur would be able to see what was important: that Alfred was safe and hadn't given himself a concussion.

Arthur's frame visibly slackened, and he sat back down, but his eyes remained on Alfred.

It almost suffocated him.

Arthur always had his eyes on Alfred. Always.

Alfred stared down at his lap as he placed the magnetic key back against the panel under the handlebar.

Arthur always showered him with attention and looked to him almost panicked—as if Alfred would disappear.

Alfred's eyes drifted down to the water, to the ambiguous shapes that could be plants, fish, or death. He shook his head as the sound of faraway thunder tickled his ears. He lifted his chin to see the nearby clouds weighted with rain drift closer.

His fingers cautiously grasped the handles before his eyes fell from the skies to the waters in front of him.

For a moment, the possibility of Arthur's distant calls burned his ears.

Alfred's right hand gripped the accelerator, and the sound of the Jet Ski's motor filled his ears again. He grit his teeth as his thoughts shoved him back into his relationship with Arthur and in his inability to satisfy him.

The thunder rumbled over the sound of the Jet Ski's motor.

Despite Alfred's desperate need to remain on the waves, he guided the Jet Ski back to the dock.

"Are you alright?" Arthur called to Alfred as he set the fold-up chair in the truck's bed. "I saw you fly off the end of it. I thought my heart stopped."

"M'fine," Alfred called back to Arthur as he dismounted and guided the Jet Ski onto its carrier. "Hey, could you start the truck and pull it forward? Just enough to get the Jet Ski out of the water."

Arthur frowned but he did as Alfred asked. He yanked up the parking brake once he heard Alfred's okay and climbed out of the car. "Is it secured?"

"Yeah. Don't close the door." Alfred rubbed down his head and body with a towel before tossing it in the truck bed. "How's your book?"

Arthur stared as Alfred walked around the front of the truck to get to the driver's seat. When Alfred lifted an eyebrow, Arthur broke through his thoughts and circled around him to get to the passenger's seat. "My book's fine. It's. It isn't very good at holding my attention." Arthur climbed into the passenger's seat and buckled up after pulling his door closed. "I suppose I was too focused on the weather report."

Alfred settled in the driver's seat and pulled the door closed. Anticipating Arthur's worry, Alfred went ahead and bucked up before putting down the parking brake and driving onto the one-way, gravel road.

"Are you sure about the party tomorrow night?" Arthur asked once he was sure Alfred's attention could afford distraction.

"Hm? Yeah. Why? I sent out the news already."

"Well—," Arthur looked out the window, "—I wonder if it'll rain tomorrow night? You won't be able to use the pool or hot tub."

Alfred shrugged. "There's still inside. And it'll probably clear up." He glanced between Arthur and the road as he kept the truck's speed slow and steady. "I didn't know you were afraid of thunder."

Arthur let out a soft laugh. "I'm not. It's startling when it's loud, but… I still like it. I just thought…it might be better to be sober if a thunderstorm was on its way."

"Eh. It'll be fine. We won't all be drunk, right?"

"… What do you mean 'right'? You think I won't get drunk?"

"I think you _hate_ the idea of getting drunk."

Arthur frowned, but Alfred was right. The thought of being drunk surrounded by other people he wasn't close to was terrifying. "Well… Sure. You won't get drunk, right? You're the host. You can't get drunk." Arthur hoped Alfred wouldn't get drunk—he was the only person he'd be able to place all his trust into at the party.

Alfred kept his eyes on the road. "… Yeah, sure. I won't get drunk."


	23. Chapter 23

Half Baked

Chapter 23

Arthur glared at the shifting bodies under the multicolored lights. He clutched the half-empty water bottle in his hand as—despite the pounding music—he heard a beer bottle shatter against the floor.

Anger.

Frustration.

Hatred. Sort of.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, and a migraine pulsed at his temples. He yanked the sliding glass door open and staggered outside, only to be greeted with the boom box blasting by the pool. Arthur stared intently at the moonlit hill below the deck. No amount of focus could make that fairy tale day dream appear in real life. Arthur leaned against the railing, glaring at the ground.

Drunken guffaws and cheers radiated from the party-goers, forcing Arthur to remain on edge. He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed them. He stared down the hill and his vision swam. His head felt as if his brain was held up by a single strand of twine, and every shout and music note batted at it.

Earphones.

He could use his earphones to block the noise or listen to something else.

Arthur's eyes widened ever so slightly. He headed back inside, snatched up a second bottle of water from the cooler, and opened the guest bedroom door. He guided the door closed with a foot and set his water bottles down on his night stand. Arthur fell onto his bed with a thump and stared up at the ceiling fan.

Light and sound from the party seeped into the room when Alfred opened Arthur's door. "Hey," Alfred murmured, "done already?" He closed the door and set his beer bottle down beside Arthur's water.

Arthur didn't move. "I hate parties."

"No one hates parties," Alfred hummed, amused. His shadow rippled over the ceiling fan—languid, loose.

Arthur lifted his head to see a beer bottle beside his bottled waters. His nose scrunched up in disapproval. "You're drunk."

"M'not drunk."

"You're _absolutely_ drunk. You _promised_ you wouldn't get drunk."

Alfred leaned over Arthur and pressed his hands against the bed—on either side of Arthur's shoulders. "There's a difference between tipsy and drunk. I could drive if I had to."

"Don't you dare drive."

Alfred rolled his eyes briefly, but the motion held no real annoyance. He rested his forehead against Arthur's. "I'm not gonna drive. Everyone's got a DD. We're good. I even locked my keys in a Rubik's cube."

"There's no such thing as a Rubik's cube lock."

"Yeah, but they'd be handy, right?" Alfred grinned. "It takes a couple minutes to solve one sober, much less tipsy—way much less drunk off my ass."

Arthur's frown softened. "Alright, fine. You're just tipsy, right? You can still walk and everything just fine?"

"Yeah. I just had enough beer to get that warm, fuzzy feeling, y'know? Where your head's all floaty."

Arthur nodded softly.

Alfred's eyes locked with his. "Wanna float off with me?"

Arthur's body gradually leaned back until he was flush with the sheets below him, but he didn't verbally object despite the worry and dread that slowly gripped him. The bed caressed Arthur's body as he lay there beneath Alfred. The low pulse of the music pounded against Arthur, attempting to mimic a defibrillator. Only Alfred's stillness and the faint scent of flowery dryer sheets gave Arthur any semblance of comfort. They were reminders. Reminders that this house had once been calm, had once been innocent. Not that young adult sex and partying wasn't a take on innocently letting out surges of adrenaline, but that there were a thousand and one ways that it could go wrong.

Like now.

Alfred's fingers tapped against Arthur's thigh like a cautious spider unsure if it'd get smacked if it dared to proceed on its journey. Regardless of what would happen, however, it continued. Alfred's head hung lower, his bangs brushing against Arthur's forehead like a moth getting too close to a flame. Alfred's arm caged Arthur's head like a fallen angel's thorny halo. Alfred bit his bottom lip.

Every shred of Arthur radiated a tenseness matched only by a deer flooded with headlights.

Every shred of Alfred ached. Unlike Arthur's dread, Alfred couldn't grasp why he hated the idea of moving farther like he'd done with tens and tens of girls. No. Tens and tens of partners. Just because Arthur was a boy meant nothing. Same process. Kinda. Alfred blinked, and his gaze softened ever so slightly from its determined stare from seconds before.

His head dipped and tilted, his teeth nipping at Arthur's neck.

Like he'd been awakened from stasis, Arthur's eyelids fluttered, and he pressed a hand against Alfred's adventurous fingers. "Alfred." His voice came out in a ghost of a whisper before he spoke more clearly through Alfred's bites. " _Alfred_."

After a pause, Alfred lifted his head to meet Arthur's eyes. His own expression was void if its usual mirth—too stuck in a spiral of frustration, need, and confusion.

"Alfred, this... Do we have to?"

"... Are we boyfriends?"

"... Yeah."

Alfred's gaze stared on through Arthur, staring more at his behavior than at his needs. "... Nah." Alfred's body weighed Arthur down more once Alfred's tenseness began to disappear. He tucked his head against Arthur's neck and closed his eyes. No biting. No kissing. He sighed. "Fuck. I think. The _stupidest_ thing to do...is to keep going."

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because you don't want it. I mean, I... I think it'd be nice. But. Not if you hate it."

"I wouldn't... _hate_ it."

Alfred's head shook lazily. "No, if you do sex, you gotta want it. Otherwise, it's wrong."

"I do want it."

"Arthur, you're looking at me like I'm a lion about t'eat you or some shit. No one that wants sex looks that scared."

Arthur's heart rate calmed, and his own body began to relax. "But we're together. Aren't we supposed to?"

"You _know_ for a fact that we don't have to."

"But aren't you horny?"

"Who gives a shit? I can jack off if I want it so bad. I can't destroy you just for a quick fuck."

Arthur's lips quirked into an amused smile. "Destroy my virginity?"

" _No,_ I meant... _hurt_ you like that. Who gives a shit about your virginity?" Alfred paused before lifting his head with panic in his eyes. "Not that it isn't like... I meant that... Like it doesn't make you a bad person to lose it if you want, and it doesn't make you an angel if you wanna keep it. It's just that I didn't wanna violate you. I just want to have fun with you." Before Arthur could open his mouth and respond, Alfred continued on: "It's just— It's been so shitty. I've been giving you your space even though I wanna… You know. But like— You look super miserable. All the time. Like you hate being with me."

"I don't hate being with you."

"Well, you don't fucking like it."

Arthur forced out a heavy sigh in frustration, slightly amused mood gone. "Alfred, you hang out with jerks. We're at a party with loud music, loud college kids, and alcohol." He forced his tone of voice into a coo rather than a growl: "I'm tired. Don't think that my crankiness means that I've fallen out of love with you." Arthur brushed his fingers against Alfred's cheek, though the touch burned him. A brief "I love you" slipped out of Arthur's mouth before his lips ghosted against Alfred's as if it where rehearsed.

Alfred's eyes widened, and his weight partially lifted off of Arthur. The thought never occurred to him. To think… To think about Arthur's feelings—how Arthur felt. Specifically—not how to manipulate Arthur into feeling happy, but…just how Arthur felt, where he was, how he perceived it, how it affected him.

The beer in Alfred's stomach churned, and his heart squeezed his entire being.


	24. Chapter 24

Half Baked

Chapter 24

Arthur picked up one of the discarded beer bottles and placed it in the garbage bag he held. The morning sunlight peeking through the living room blinds threatened to wake Gilbert. Well. The sun would've woken Gil if he wasn't buried beneath a blanket and pillow.

Alfred dropped the used parchment paper into his own trash bag as he scanned the kitchen for more trash.

With each additional half hour of cleaning, the party's chaotic-looking aftermath noticeably shrunk. Arthur and Alfred cleaned up the mess in silence, neither one wanting to go into detail about their almost-intimate time together the night before.

It felt…wrong.

Arthur knew as he lay on the bed, and as he stared up at Alfred, that any action other than retreat felt wrong—despite his attempts at dismissive humor. That one kiss was all he could give—all he felt like giving. Anything more would've been lying.

Arthur stared intently at the controller which lay buttons-down on the rug. Wordlessly, he turned it over and set it on the coffee table.

He'd never truly lied to Alfred before; it wasn't right to start with such a fragile moment. And they'd only been together for almost a couple weeks! Of course he wouldn't feel comfortable with sex yet! Of course… Well… Love wasn't really a formula. There were no steps Arthur had to take to fall in love with Alfred. He didn't have to write a letter talking about all the cool-turned-lame traits he admired about Alfred. He didn't have to look the other way when Alfred sweet-talked a classmate. He didn't have to wait in the common area when all he wanted to do was study in his own damn dorm room.

He didn't have to cry.

How many times had Alfred cried?

Arthur dropped an empty can into his trash bag before glancing over at Alfred.

Those thoughts were selfish. Alfred didn't have to cry. He didn't have to…to sacrifice. But. Wasn't that love? Sacrifice? Wasn't… No, no. Alfred didn't owe him anything, right? Despite… Despite Arthur's love for Alfred, Alfred didn't owe his love to Arthur. It was a convenient coincidence that Alfred loved him in return.

A sickly, guilt-tugging coincidence.

 _But… Doesn't everyone want to be loved? To be in a relationship like that?_

To be in a relationship with a childhood love…as Arthur is in now?

Arthur leaned down and stared at the rug, trying to find shapes or color that'd soothe his thoughts. He gently brushed his fingers against the rough fibers, trying to find something to ground him. Some form of pain or stimulus that'd restart his mindset and bring him back down from the clouds. However, no amount of digging the pads of his fingers into the rug could take him back to Oliver's dorm room to pack and talk in a comforting pastel haze—or to those quiet, warm nights on the common area couch.

Arthur lifted his fingers from the carpet to see them glow with red and feel them tingle.

He missed the shapes—the shapes he'd find in the dorm carpet—and that ugly yellow wall.

Thoughts bubbled forth of watching other students walking to and from class from his booth in the dining hall, and of Al watching with him—their hands resting on each other. They watched and floated together in one moment, existing on a different plane together.

Arthur watched the rug fibers.

"Arthur, you okay?"

Arthur lifted his head and looked to Alfred.

"You seem kinda…out of it. … You're not…angry at me, are you? For last night?" Alfred winced. He thought he stopped early enough, but maybe he hadn't accounted for Arthur's boundaries well enough. "I, uh… Wouldn't blame you."

Arthur's gaze remained on Alfred, but his blank expression hadn't changed.

"… Um." Alfred's eyes fell down to his trash bag, unable to meet Arthur's stare. "Y'see. Things have been. Weird." He threw away a few used paper towels. "I don't know what's…going on." He put all his trust into his words. Sincerity was the key, right? Being honest? "I kind of. Hate this. I just. I didn't think it'd be such a big deal. Last night. Like. I— I thought I stopped early enough, but like. I can't tell, and I can't read your face." He squinted, trying to find some semblance of emotion in Arthur's expression. "And it's kinda freaking me out. You're always really good at letting me know when you're sad or some shit. So. Just. This is. Scary. Please talk. Please."

Alfred's lack of tact shook Arthur from his haze of better times. Arthur stood after picking up some nearby trash, and guilt pulsed within him. "Sorry," he murmured and corrected his expression into one of worry. "I'm sorry. I didn't…" Arthur let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry. I wasn't comfortable last night, and…I didn't want to make it seem like I didn't want it because I do— I'm just…not ready." Arthur walked over to the kitchen so the two of them could speak softer and not risk waking Gil.

Alfred stared down at the trash in his bag before glaring at it. "Damn it." He set the bag on the ground and leaned on the counter. "Shit. … I'm…sorry. I'm just really crap at being a good boyfriend. I've been a pretty shitty person—the worst."

Arthur's grip on his trash bag tightened, and his nerves strained.

"I mean. I can't stop thinking about it. Shit, you probably hate me, and I don't blame you. It was stupid to make a move on you even when we're together. I've just been—" Alfred let out a frustrated huff, "—the worst. I'm the worst." He sent Arthur a look bordering on a whimper.

Arthur's jaw locked, and his eyes fell down to the counter—away from Alfred's gaze. He rubbed Alfred's back. "You're not the worst," Arthur spoke hardly above a whisper. "You've…"

From all Arthur could deduce, there were moments where Alfred had tried to cheer him up. In some of the hardest points in his life, Alfred was somewhat there and somewhat comforting—even if he had no idea how to properly relate to Arthur.

"Arthur?"

Arthur gave Alfred a tight, concerned smile. "But you've tried, right? You're not the worst if you try." Arthur's nails lightly dug against Alfred's back before he pulled his hand away. "I mean… Sure, you could've tried harder."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow. "What? Yeah. It's not easy thinking about others."

"Mm."

"It's just that I've been thinking more and more about…" Alfred's voice lowered, "about you. And. The more I think about it, the harder it gets. I don't get how…or why you're always so wound up around me. For starters."

Arthur gripped the trash bag he held, not ready to peel into a life-altering conversation. He gave Alfred a light shrug. "M'not always wound up around you."

"You're always wound up. And it's getting worse."

"Oh, alright. Am I wound up right now?"

Alfred looked Arthur up and down, watching his tensed-up frame shake ever so slightly. "…Yeah. A couple weeks ago you were better at winding down." Alfred bit his tongue, suddenly regretting where he took the conversation. Damn it, if he had to listen to Arthur explain in excruciating detail why Al was better than him, he'd die on the spot.

"Well, I had… We. I've been."

What could he say? He had friends at school, and that's why he could unwind and breathe easily? And if he ever let anything slip or hurt Alfred, Alfred would just find a new best friend?

Boyfriend?

Well, why shouldn't Arthur just go ahead and throw the trash bag at Alfred's face? It'd be the equivalent of spilling out the truth and risk suggesting he was better than Alfred.

Spikes of dread and shame dug into Arthur's chest at the thought.

How could he think that way?! As if he were better than Alfred! What a thought to think!

Arthur's shame burned his cheeks, and he couldn't meet Alfred's eyes. The two were locked in silence as the other didn't want to contribute to the conversation at the risk of stepping into territory they couldn't backtrack from.

"…S… Just stress from the finals," Alfred murmured. "You like it here, and you like it with me, but the finals stress still hits you. Right?" He gave Arthur a worried wince.

Arthur nodded softly, his movement completely embodying only slight commitment to Alfred's answer. "Yes…"

They watched each other, both thoroughly uncomfortable with the atmosphere.

Gil yawned and stretched from underneath his blanket before curling it tighter around his body. Within seconds, his slight snore was audible again.

"You're sure?" Alfred whispered and mentally punched himself for digging deeper. "You're sure it's just stress?" Part of him wanted confirmation that this feeling would pass and another part of him wanted to sit directly in the trash can. Alfred dug his nails into the palm of his hand. "Or." Cannons shot through his head and were met with screams and yells of inner-war. " _Maybe_ you just… _miss_ your…friends," he ground out despite his mental battle.

Arthur's eyes widened, and the corners of his lips tucked back to reveal a cautious and relieved smile. "Um… Yes. A little. I didn't exactly leave on a great note."

"Yup."

"I'd really like to see them."

"Oh?"

"Yes, yes." Arthur dared to show some of the massive care he felt for Oliver and Al. "Actually, they're only a couple hours away."

Alfred leaned on the counter and looked to Arthur. "Yeah?"

Arthur's tentative good mood faltered ever so slightly. "Um. Yes. I've been texting with Oliver. He and Al work in a bakery, and they've been able to spend a lot of time together. Oliver says he and Al miss me so I wanted to surprise them or…something."

Alfred idly scratched his neck and thought about how to accomplish such a feat. "They'd be working, though. You wanna ride in the car for two hours, say hi, and ride back?"

The rest of Arthur's good mood fell, and he sighed. "I just thought it'd be a nice idea."

"It's nice— It's just… I dunno, it needs work." Shit. Like clockwork, Alfred was letting Arthur down again. Damn, damn, _damn._ He held Arthur's hand before the other could walk away. "Talk to Oliver about coming up here for a day. On their day off. It'd probably work out better that way." His lips pulled into a cautious smile, and Arthur grinned in return. "Uhm— Where's your phone? You should call him."

"Guest room," Arthur murmured. "It's charging." He slipped his arm out of Alfred's hold and set down his trash bag. "I'll come back and help once I'm done."

"Yeah, take your time." Alfred watched as Arthur quietly hurried into the guest room and closed the door. Alfred took this time to set down his trash bag, head out onto the deck, and stand between the pool and the deck railing. "Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid_ fucking idiot," he hissed at himself. "Should've told him to fucking get engaged, too."

Nature offered only the occasional bird tweet and breeze in condolence. Or in mocking.

Alfred gripped the deck railing and dug his nails into the wood. His self-inflicted and self-directed rage burst inside him; he wasn't used to bottling it all in.

He let out a frustrated grunt before outright falling back in the pool.


	25. Chapter 25

Half Baked

Chapter 25

Arthur's eyes lifted from his charging cord, and he looked to the guest room door.

"Arthur, are you alright?"

Arthur shook himself from his thoughts. "Yes, sorry, Oliver. I thought I heard something fall into the pool. I'll give it a look later. I was calling to ask if maybe you and Al could visit us? At the lake house."

Oliver's side of the call was silent for a moment before he spoke up. "That sounds fun!" The strain in his tone was evident. "Is that very safe?"

"Is what safe?"

"Alfred in the same room as all of us?"

"… Why wouldn't it be safe?"

Oliver's side went silent again. "Arthur. You know that I don't understand what's going on with all that…romantic stuff you're doing. Well— I understand it. You know I do. I just don't… You remember our talk about different planes? And floating?"

"Yes," Arthur answered, hesitant.

"I'm going to go ahead and admit that I can't see why you'd be with Alfred. Or why you'd want to be with him—don't hang up."

Arthur stared out the window, starting to formulate his defense for Alfred and his behavior. "I'm not going to hang up," he answered flatly.

"Good. Please understand that I care about you. A lot. And I get angry when you're mistreated, but… I understand that you have your own idea of what happiness is. I just— I don't want you to get swallowed up by something that can be avoided, you know?"

Arthur gripped his phone as he began his defense. "I'm not being mistreated. I care about Alfred, and he cares about me. It's just hard for him to be articulate."

Oliver sighed.

Arthur stared down at the floor before speaking softly. "I… Before I could stop myself, I thought… That he wasn't good enough for me." His words struggled to spill out. "It's— I hate that I thought that. I hate it. I'm not too good for him, and he's not insufficient. And— I can't just determine his worth like that! What kind of person does that make me?"

"Judgmental," Oliver stated. "But we're all judgmental. It's how we determine… Arthur, I think that thought is the part of you that's not blinded by your care for Alfred."

"Blinded?"

"Sorry— But… Alfred's not stupid. Right? Let's start there. Alfred isn't stupid."

"Right…"

"And he's been able to get across his thoughts to you many times in the past, right? Has he ever been particularly difficult to communicate with? Can he pick up on things generally?"

Arthur's side fell silent before he reluctantly answered, "Generally. Yes. What's your point, Oliver?"

"Please just— Please think about it. He knows what he's doing." Oliver let out another sigh. "I know it's hard to think about. I know you don't want to face it because it'd be…uncomfortable. But you have to. Remember when I told you about my break-up with Allen?"

"I don't need a lecture."

"I'm not— Arthur, I broke up with Allen because we'd be miserable together in a romantic sense."

"I'm not miserable with Alfred."

"…Ahuh."

"I'm not. I'm happy. He's happy."

"If I can break up with Allen, you can break up with Alfred."

Arthur pulled his phone from his ear and dropped the call. His eyes fell on the battery charge icon as his phone chirped: a text from Oliver. Arthur let out a huff before checking what it said:

 _Never settle for half-baked efforts. You're so much more than that. Love you._

Arthur gripped his phone and closed the text. He dropped his phone onto his bed before storming out of his room. Upon catching sight of Gil on the couch, his steps softened. He let out a small huff, not quite comfortable with Gil there and not quite offended enough to kick him out, and he stepped outside. Arthur pulled the sliding glass door closed as he lingered over to the pool.

Arthur froze when he saw Alfred's body floating in the water. Without wasting a second, he jumped in and wrapped his arms around Alfred with the intent to pull him to the pool wall.

Alfred let out a startled shout, and he gripped Arthur's shoulders.

Their eyes met with raw fear before realization washed over them. Their joined relief weakened their holds.

"God damn it, Alfred, what the hell are you doing in the pool fully clothed?" Arthur asked, weary from the potential heart attack he was sure he'd have.

"S'nothing. Just. I was… I dunno. I just fell in." Alfred's hands slipped down to clasp behind Arthur's back, holding Arthur in a loose hug. "I was getting all worked up, and the cool water just…kinda seemed like the only thing that'd calm me down. And it was nice...so I just stayed in." Alfred thought back to the sounds of nature muffled by the cool water. "I liked how…peaceful it was."

Arthur nodded softly, grasping Alfred's words. His eyes widened ever so slightly. "Your phone's not on you, is it?"

Alfred's hand pressed against his pockets before he let out a relieved sigh. "Nah. Must've left it in the kitchen."

"Good." Arthur's eyes drifted down to Alfred's chest, and he watched as the water shifted against Alfred's shirt. "What were you so worked up over? I've never seen you so riled that you'd jump into a pool."

Alfred let out a heavy sigh. "I'll… It's… What'd Oliver say?"

Arthur frowned.

"I'll tell you later. What'd Oliver say about coming up here?"

"… Do you promise?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I promise. Are you gonna tell me what Oliver said?"

"Yes." Arthur grew slightly more at ease, choosing to trust Alfred to divulge additional information later on. "Oliver is…concerned about us all being in the same room again. I, you, him, and Al. Especially since…it's never gone well. Ever."

"Alright, so are they coming over?"

Arthur winced. "I…hung up on him before we could determine that."

"What'd you do that for?"

Arthur shook his head and shrugged as if the action was no bigger than messing up any spoken word. "It's nothing. Let's get out of the pool. If we have to stay in it, I'd rather be in trunks."

Alfred's loose hug tightened into an embrace. "We can get out after you say why you hung up on your brand new buddy."

Arthur let out a pained, short-lived groan. All he had to do was explain to Alfred that Oliver hated his guts. Fantastic. "He was being rude."

"Oliver was being rude."

"Yes, he's very capable of it."

"Fucking yeah I know. You think I don't know Oliver's rude?"

Arthur pushed against Alfred's chest, and he spoke in a clipped tone, "Alright, now you know. Let me go. Let's get out."

"Was he saying stupid shit? Or making fun of you?"

" _No,_ Oliver doesn't make fun of me or say anything stupid."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow.

Arthur pushed against him. "Let's get out."

"What'd he say?"

"Alfred, I swear to god if you don't let me get out of this pool, I'll drown you."

"You scared of being in the water?"

Arthur threw a glare at Alfred and paired it with a serious frown. "No. I'm annoyed that you're forcing me to stay here while you talk shit about Oliver. He's my _friend._ Why would you say bad things about him?"

Alfred stared off with his own frown and annoyed glare. His embrace loosened, but he wasn't ready to let go of Arthur yet. "He thinks I'm a piece of shit," he spoke softly, almost afraid to admit he had a flaw in his ego. "He thinks that… That I just use people, right? Like. Fuck. All he knows is that I took him out that one time to figure out if you still like me, but I guess he's still fucking pissed about it."

"… Did you ever apologize to him?"

"What?"

"Did you apologize to Oliver for using him?"

"That's all you took from what I said?"

"Alfred—" Arthur pushed away from him, finally escaping his loose hug. He spoke as he swam to the pool's edge. "You're _not_ a piece of shit. I know it. If you haven't apologized to Oliver yet then _of course_ he thinks badly of you." He pulled himself out of the pool and stood. "And if you apologize from your heart, then Oliver will understand and forgive you. Then it won't be awkward when we're all in the same room together."

"Really. It's that easy?"

"You don't sound very enthused."

Alfred swam over to the pool's edge and hauled himself out. "Oliver seems like the type to hold a grudge, and it feels like he'd be against me no matter what. And, hey, doesn't Al still hate my guts, too? Still think it won't be awkward?"

Arthur pulled off his shirt, exasperation lacing his actions. "I don't know. I don't care right now. I just want to see them." He draped his shirt over a lounge chair and went to work on undoing his jeans. "Would you apologize to Oliver and ask him and Al to come over?"

"They'll just think I'm a crappy boyfriend. There's no point." Alfred tugged off his own wet shirt.

"Yes, there is. If you really want them to see the you that _I_ know, then you'll apologize to Oliver and invite them over." Arthur paused in his undressing. "Besides, I'm sure neither of them expect you to apologize for anything ever. It'll be a good surprise for them, and it'll prove that you're good boyfriend material. Oh, you have Oliver's number, right?"

Alfred unzipped his jeans and muttered his answer: "Yeah. I got it from the group thing. You can take a shower first. I'll give Oliver a call."

Arthur's lips tugged into a slight smile. "And you'll apologize and invite them over?"

Alfred let out a sigh and nodded. "And I'll apologize and invite them over."

Arthur's smile grew more prominent. "Good." He dropped his jeans over the lounge chair before hurrying inside. As much as he enjoyed being in pools in general; he'd rather be clean.

Alfred watched Arthur hurry off with a frown. He draped his jeans over the lounge chair beside Arthur's pair. He let out another heavy sigh. "Shit."


	26. Chapter 26

Half Baked

Chapter 26

"Arthur?"

"Oliver, it's Alfred—don't hang up!"

Oliver gripped his phone and sneered. "You're using Arthur's phone to call me?"

Al's eyes snapped up from his soda to see a displeased frown etched into Oliver's cheeks. Oliver gave him a dismissive wave, indicating that he could handle whatever crap he'd have to deal with.

"Well, yeah, you hung up on me whenever I tried to use my phone."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Alfred answered flatly, "You did. Twice."

Oliver clicked his tongue. "Get to the point. You're using up my minutes."

Alfred took in a breath, and his reason fell from his lips in seconds: "Arthur and I wanna invite you and Al to my parents' lake house for a couple days."

Oliver paused, stunned, before letting out a slightly sarcastic and short-lived laugh. "Yes, Arthur's mentioned that to me. I'm very much in favor of being there for Arthur. _You,_ on the other hand…"

'Alfred?' Al mouthed.

Oliver nodded.

"I get it. I know." Alfred sighed.

Al reached a hand out to Oliver, wordlessly asking for his phone.

Oliver shook his head.

"I know you hate me."

"Well—"

"Let me finish," Alfred cut off Oliver, intending to continue his thought.

Oliver rolled his eyes, but went silent nonetheless.

"I… Don't blame you."

Oliver's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"I used you to figure out if Arthur still liked me. I lied to you, too. And I sorta threw you aside as soon as I got what I wanted." Alfred's voice trailed off as he grew more ashamed of his past actions. "And for all that shit—"

Oliver winced.

"—I'm sorry."

Oliver looked to Al with shock. He pointed to his phone before tapping on it. Al attempted to mouth his questions, but Oliver gave him another wave to cut off their silent, miming conversation.

"I'm sure it felt bad to get tossed away like that, so yeah."

"Well, Alfred," Oliver began as he pressed a hand against the table he and Al sat at, "that's very big of you to come forth and _apologize to me_ about being such a jerk before."

Al's mouth hung open, and he shook his head while trying to hold back a laugh.

Oliver nodded slowly with a half-smile.

"Um, yeah, I guess. But. Yeah. So. Sorry about all that."

"Mhm."

The line wandered into silence.

"… So… Do you forgive me?"

"I'll work on it. Maybe by the time we make it up to your parents' lake house, I'll have forgiven you."

Al's eyes widened, and so many questions hung on the tip of his tongue.

Alfred sighed, "Alright. I'll text you the address. Could you tell Al?"

"He knows. He's right here listening in."

The line went silent on Alfred's end. "… Could you hand the phone over to him?"

"Ha—" Oliver let out a brief laugh, "absolutely not."

Alfred continued to drag his feet through the conversation, dreading where he was trying to take it. "Please. I…want to apologize to him, too."

Oliver watched Al with shock in his eyes. "… Allen, are you against speaking with Alfred currently?"

Al's eyebrows pulled together as he nodded with a disbelieving smile.

"He just apologized to me; he might be civil."

Al shook his head regardless.

Alfred let out a frustrated scoff at the lack of conversation. "Just put me on speakerphone. He doesn't have to talk. He just has to listen."

Oliver rolled his eyes as he pulled his phone away from his ear and put Alfred on speaker phone.

Al read Arthur's name on the screen. "You're stealing his phone now?"

"No, shut up. I just needed to borrow it. It's not locked anyway. I didn't break into it."

Al propped his jaw up with a hand. "Stay out of Arthur's privacy. He needs it."

"Oh my god," Alfred groaned, and took a moment to calm down. "I'm sorry. Okay?"

"You should be apologizing to Arthur, not me."

"What? No, no. I meant…" Alfred winced as he thought back to his moment of childish behavior. "Sorry for what I said. For the…" He let out a heavy sigh. "The 'I win' bullshit—"

"Language," Al muttered.

"—It was rude, stupid, and kid-ish. And I kinda wanted to shove it in your face. But it was stupid. Really stupid. So… I'm sorry for the falling out between you and Arthur. I…" Alfred let out a frustrated huff. "I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get you mad or some shit."

Al winced and gave Oliver an apologetic smile. "Yeah, it was rude, stupid, and manipulative. But whatever."

"…So… Forgive me?"

"Sure."

"Sure? It sounds like you don't forgive me."

"Yeah, it's a lie, but whatever. I'll forgive you whenever Oliver does."

"…Alright. Cool. I'll text Oliver the address. Or Arthur will."

"Cool."

Oliver and Al stared at Oliver's phone, waiting for Alfred to get any other inane thing off his mind. Alfred remained silent on his end.

"…So, uh… Anything you wanna tell me?"

Oliver and Al's eyes met, and they briefly pondered what pointless drivel Alfred wanted to hear.

"Nope," Al answered, "bye." He tapped the red phone button on Oliver's phone to hang up. Once the call dropped, Al let out a groan. "I can't believe that. Can you?"

"Which thing? I counted at least four." Oliver set his phone down on the table. "Oh, before we get into it, though, I can't believe Alfred was fishing for an apology."

"That's what he was doing?"

"Yes, you couldn't tell? Calling mostly to apologize to us and then expecting us to say something? I believe he was fishing for an apology for that beating you gave him."

Al let out a laugh. "He's not getting one. I don't regret it. But I meant like…" He took a sip of his soda before resting the can on a coaster. "Apologizing to me for trying to get me mad, but… It just went deeper than that?"

"Yes, what was that?"

"I never told you?"

Oliver shook his head and ran his fingers against his mug of hot chocolate. "Go on, tell me." He smiled, eager to hear the drama Al encountered.

"Okay—" Al stood up and took a few steps away from the kitchen table. "Picture this. So." He stood in the kitchen doorway. "I knocked on Arthur's door, and Alfred opened up. I was already gonna kick his butt, but then he said some junk like— Oh. Wait. Sorry in advance. For language." Al corrected his form by leaning a shoulder against the kitchen doorway, and a lop-sided smile appeared on his face. "Hey," he used his best Alfred voice, "came to bitch about how I won?"

Oliver coughed and covered his mouth, staring at Al with wide eyes. "He didn't."

Al fell out of character and threw up his arms. "He did! The suave mother—screw…er. The jerk! Okay, okay, so. Naturally, I saw red so I decked him." He punched the air to give Oliver a replay of the scene.

"Naturally."

"So like. He fell down and looked like a middle school bully who got stood up to. I closed the door and said something cool, I bet."

"What, you don't know?"

"Red, Oliver, red."

"Ah. Yes."

"Pretty sure I told him to leave Arthur alone, because I was _sick_ of him shoving his stupid, dirty hands into Arthur's business, y'know?" Al returned to his place at the table and took another sip of his soda as Oliver gave him a hum in acknowledgement. Al spoke softly after spending his frustrated excitement just seconds before, "He kept trying to make it about who was closer to Arthur or who controlled him or some crap. And it just…made me _angrier._ So like. He just called to apologize… _to us."_

Oliver's chin lifted as realization filled his eyes. "He keeps treating Arthur like an object."

"Yeah, it's weird that he'd apologize to me about provoking me, but… I don't know. I feel like he'd talk about it all different if he actually apologized to Arthur."

"Maybe he already apologized to Arthur?"

"Yeah, see, I don't know. I don't want to say he hasn't if he has, and if he has, I can't tell." Al shrugged and tapped a nail against the soda can. "I'm sure somewhere he's tricking himself into thinking he wants to make it work, but… I'm not seeing the right stuff."

"Arthur's still defensive about him."

"Seriously?"

Oliver took a sip from his hot chocolate and nodded. "Yes. I called Arthur earlier—that's when he invited us to Alfred's parents' lake house—"

"This rich motherfucker."

"Allen."

"Sorry."

Oliver huffed softly. "I called Arthur earlier. Arthur invited us to the lake house. I asked if it'd be alright if we were all in the same room since we're all very aware we didn't leave each other on the most positive of events. Arthur said 'sure, why', and I sort of…skirted around it and went straight to the heart of it. I told him I thought he was being mistreated, and I would rather he just skip it altogether."

"…Skip what?"

"His time in a relationship with Alfred. It's just so obvious that it can't work, and I know that he'll go through a hard time. And I'm just so worried for him. He's going to go through heartache he could avoid _right now_ if he'd just break up with Alfred. He'll waste his time. He'll waste his energy. They both will."

Al frowned and tapped his can against the coaster. "Not everyone sees it like that."

"Sees Alfred and Arthur's relationship as a disaster?"

"Yeah. Well. Sees romance as messy and dumb."

"I didn't say that."

"I think you're leaning that way. It's… I'm not 'taking the piss' or some crap. I'm just. Talking like normal. A lot of people have to go through the motions, because they're not gonna realize a certain relationship's a waste of time otherwise." Al leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry, because I know I'll be there for him when he gets through it— _as_ he goes through it. So. I know your mindset can't take it right now, but like. Motions, y'know?"

Oliver frowned. "I suppose you're right." His expression grew concerned. "Poor Arthur. He'll wake up from it soon, right?"

"Sure."


	27. Chapter 27

Half Baked

Chapter 27

Alfred stared down at Arthur's phone. He hadn't gotten the forgiveness he wanted, but it was more important that he managed to say sorry. At least he felt somewhat better about the past—still ashamed, however. His thoughts eased back further—back to seventh grade. Back to the time where he'd fed Arthur his favorite cookies in the bathroom in his earnest hopes that he'd make him feel better. The memory of that day flooded back.

Alfred felt the notebook paper in his hand—remembered Arthur's penmanship. He remembered the feeling of Gil leaning against him and unintentionally violating the trust Arthur had for Alfred.

Alfred rested his head in a hand as his eyes watched the phone's blacked out screen. His discomfort turned to hot shame as his thoughts traveled from his feelings while reading the note to seeing young Arthur on the verge of tears. Gil's laugh echoed in his ears, and he hardly registered the taunts. He only knew in the moment that he had to mimic his friends in order to keep his footing at the pinnacle of the seventh grade hierarchy—one of the very many fleeting hierarchies in the grade.

Alfred let out a scoff and set Arthur's phone on the bed beside him. It'd been a long time since he'd revisited the memory.

The sounds of running water cut off, and the bathroom door opened.

"Alfred? Weren't you calling Oliver?" Arthur eyed his phone beside Alfred's hand and Alfred's hunched shoulders. "… Were you…looking through my phone?"

Alfred stood up and faced Arthur. "No, no—nothing like that." He noted that Arthur had wrapped his large towel around his torso rather than his hips—despite the fact it covered everything. Alfred stared, perplexed.

"… What?" Arthur gravitated back into the bathroom doorway to avoid Alfred's stare.

Alfred forced his eyes down to the bedspread. "Nothing— Forget about it. I just had to use your phone to call Oliver. That's all. I didn't look through anything."

Arthur nodded softly. "Why didn't you use your phone?"

"Is there something wrong with using yours?"

Arthur winced and broke his eye contact.

Before Arthur had a chance to spiral, Alfred interrupted his thoughts. "My phone's dead. I thought I plugged it in before I went to bed, but I guess I forgot." It was a lie, but Arthur didn't need to know that Oliver refused to talk to his boyfriend; that'd only make a rift between them.

"Oh…"

"Yeah. But I didn't look at anything. I just went to the contacts and found Oliver's name. Didn't look through texts or anything."

Arthur frowned and nodded, slightly out of it.

Alfred watched him for a moment, waiting for any other opportunity to dodge suspicion.

"… I'd like to get dressed."

"Alright." Alfred remained where he stood before he realized exactly what Arthur meant. "Oh—yeah. Right." Alfred hurried past the bed to the door, opening it but not quite leaving yet. "Um. Do you wanna get food after this? Maybe pizza or something?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Think about it while you change. I'll get the rest of the living room picked up. And could you text Oliver the lake house address?"

Arthur nodded.

"Great." Alfred slipped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He walked further into the living room before letting out a soft sigh. He scanned the main living area. There were bits of trash lingering, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was when they started cleaning. Instead of picking up another trash bag, Alfred collapsed onto the couch and partially onto Gil's legs.

Gil let out a groan before pushing his blanket down just enough to reveal his face.

Alfred gave Gil a frustrated frown.

"What?"

"I invited over Al."

Gil squinted. "Who's Al?"

"You know. Al."

Gil shook his head ever so slightly.

Alfred's gaze narrowed in his brief confusion. "Alright." He spoke in a quiet voice, careful not to let Arthur hear. "So Al's this guy that Arthur's been hanging out with. They're best friends, and I kinda got between them. Arthur really misses him."

Gil sat up with a groan. "So he's bad news?"

"Yeah." Alfred rested his chin in his hand. "…Gil, I… Fuck, I hate it so much. I know…that he really, really likes Al. And it kills me, but… Al really knows him. They only just got together during midterms, but I thought they got to sex already."

"Knows him like… He knows you decked me over that love note?"

"Nah, Arthur doesn't even know that. I sort of…forgot about that, actually. I dunno. After cheering him up, I kinda pretended it didn't happen for _forever._ I didn't want to see him that sad again."

Gil watched Alfred with a knowing but reserved gaze.

Alfred frowned. "I dunno if Arthur told him about the note, but I bet he would've punched me a lot harder if he did know."

Gil let out a laugh. "He punched you?"

"Yeah. Dude, he looked like a fucking demon. He found out that Arthur and I started dating, and I guess he was gonna confront me or something." Alfred rolled his eyes. "And I…said something stupid—"

"Yeah—"

"—and he punched me. And kicked me. Dude, I coughed up blood."

Gil's eyebrows drew together with a hint of worry. "What's this guy look like?"

Another wave of shame fell over Alfred. "…He's like…my height. Dumb red hair. Looks like he took a long nap in the sun."

"Not talking about that shit. Is he a wrestler?"

"No," Alfred muttered. "He's more like a… I dunno—a hipster?"

"A weakling?"

"No, he's got muscle, but there's no way he does sports."

Gil gave Alfred a look of amusement tinted with slight pity. "You let a regular guy beat you up?"

"He looked like a _demon,_ remember?" Alfred hissed, annoyed. "I was surprised. He was mad, too. That probably helped."

"Shit, you're such a loser." Gil grinned and gave Alfred's shoulder a playful punch.

Alfred frowned. "Shut up. S'not like I could've punched back. Arthur probably would've seen. Anyway. I just invited this guy up here because Arthur misses his best friend."

"Don't worry; I'll be here to hold back Mr. Demon Al in case he tries to smack you again." Gil laughed softly.

"It's not that." Alfred's almost light-hearted musings fell into serious worry. "…I'm scared."

"…What for? Did he kick you _that_ hard?"

"I said it's not that. I'm." He glanced at the guest room door before whispering to Gil, "I know…that Arthur doesn't _love_ me. He doesn't wanna be with me like that, but he'd kill himself before he'd admit it."

Gil's eyes zipped between the guest room door and Alfred's dejected expression. "…How'd you find out if he didn't tell you?"

"What—?"

"Hey, don't freak out, but you're not too good at picking up on things."

Alfred's frown grew. "… Well… I picked up on this. It was last night when everyone was either passing out or on their last drinks. I went into Arthur's room, and I wanted to have sex because I stayed away from him for like a week." He mumbled, "I missed him." He recalled last night's memory to the best of his ability. "But when I tried to start it, he looked like a deer in headlights. I… I never ever had a partner that looked so scared when we got to that point."

"… Alfred, you didn't…"

"Of course not!" Alfred froze and looked to Arthur's door to see that it was still closed and undisturbed. He looked back to Gil and spoke quietly. "Of course not. I'd never hurt him like that. I stopped because he clearly didn't want it, and then he said he did want it, but I wasn't convinced so I just. Stopped. I told him I thought he hated being with me."

"…Alright, so? Then? Spit it out."

Alfred let out a huff, not wanting to revisit the moment. "He fucking. He said he doesn't hate being with me. He said the reason he seemed crabby was because he was just tired. He hates parties. He said just 'cause he seemed crabby didn't mean he didn't love me."

"...So what's the problem?"

"…Why'd he say it like that? And then he kissed me like a robot—why would he do any of that like that?"

Gil fell back against his pillow and let out a sigh. "I don't know. You know him better than me."

Alfred stared at the floor, concern eating away at him. "…I'm…not sure I do."


	28. Chapter 28

Half Baked

Chapter 28

"This was a mistake," Oliver murmured.

Al turned off the car and stared ahead at the lake house. "Too late now."

"Allen."

Al looked to his right to see Oliver's eyes full of concern. "What?"

"You're sure you'll be okay while we spend time here?"

Al leaned back against his seat and unbuckled his seatbelt. He remained where he was, staring ahead at the house. "It's too late now."

"But you want to be here?"

"I wanna see him. He's probably starved for affection."

Oliver held Al's hand. "You won't get into a fight with Alfred, will you? You'll hold your tongue and let things take its course?"

Al let out a sigh. "I'm more worried about _you_ letting things progress naturally."

Oliver released Al's hand, and he unbuckled himself before resting a hand on the door handle. "Yes, well, watching incompetence unfold is frustrating. Luckily, I promise to just be a good friend to you and Arthur the whole time we're here."

"And what about Alfred?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'll be very, very civil with Alfred. I'll say I forgive him."

"He apologized two weeks ago. You're still stubborn about it?"

"Yes. I don't take kindly to people who treat me like garbage." Oliver snapped the handle to open the door and hopped out of the car.

Al shrugged and climbed out of his well-traveled car. He closed the door.

"What about you?" Oliver opened the backseat door. "Do you forgive him for what he said?"

Al watched the lake house. "Leave the stuff. We'll say hi first."

Oliver closed the door.

"…It was stupid. I guess. If you think about it, he was apologizing for trying t'get a rise out of me. And I mean." He shrugged. "I'd probably do the same thing."

"You're not serious."

Al turned and leaned on his car roof, meeting Oliver's eyes. "Yeah. I wouldn't treat Arthur like a toy I took from some kid, but if Arthur decided to date me back then instead, then you bet I'd try to shove it in Alfred's stupid face." Al rolled his eyes. "I'd use better wording. But I'd still show off."

"Right." Oliver turned his sights to the front door. "…Well. It's time to bite the bullet."

Al let out a sigh. "Yeah." He stared up at the house. "You first."

"Why me first?"

"Because you're better at damage control. Go on."

Oliver frowned but walked ahead just the same. Al followed behind him as they climbed the stairs to the porch. Oliver paused as he stood in front of the door. He glanced to Al as he heard Alfred's and Arthur's voices from inside.

"Thin walls, hm?" Oliver whispered.

Al's gaze narrowed. "What're they yelling about?"

"They're not yelling," Oliver murmured. "They're just talking seriously. Shh."

"That's eavesdropping."

Oliver pressed a finger to his mouth as he smiled.

The two looked to door the second they heard yelling. Al knocked on the door with panic in his eyes. "Hey! We're here!"

* * *

"Why are you so against me looking at your phone?"

Arthur looked up from his phone, and his eyes fell on the TV. Alfred had paused his game out of nowhere, and the melody of video game music and button mashing had halted. Arthur looked to Alfred, confused by the sudden question. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember when you saw me with your phone after you got out of the shower?"

Arthur's eyebrows drew together as he tried to remember the moment. "Wh— Are you talking about when you called Oliver? When your phone was dead?"

"Yeah."

Arthur's mouth hung slightly open for a moment before he repositioned himself from leaning on the couch's arm to facing Alfred entirely. "That was two weeks ago! You're still thinking about it?"

"Yeah," Alfred answered, offended by Arthur's insinuation that it was no big deal. "It's weird. It's like you think I'd look through your phone."

"Alfred… You haven't really…proven that you're someone who wouldn't do that."

Alfred set his controller on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. "Okay, _who_ shared a room with you for an entire year and has _never_ looked through your phone?"

"You've…never looked?"

"You always had it on you! How could I take it and look through it?"

Arthur crossed his arms as another wave of anger came over him. "You're saying you didn't look through it because it was impossible since I always carried it on me."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "No, that's not what I meant! I meant that I never looked because that's weird! Why would I do something like that?"

"What do you mean 'weird'? You keep throwing out that word! Am I just 'weird' to you?"

Alfred and Arthur shared stares. Arthur dared Alfred to insult him, and Alfred did everything in his power to try and think of a sentence that Arthur wouldn't take the wrong way. "You're not weird," he stated. "You're just—"

Arthur lifted an eyebrow.

"—just doing weird things. Like when you stare at the floor whenever something big happens."

Arthur let out a huff, and his eyes automatically fell to the floor. "If I'm so weird, why do you like me?"

"You're not weird."

"Yes, I am."

Alfred stared at the TV and at his character in its standing cycle. "Arthur, I don't know what you're doing. But I just wanna know why it's such a big deal that I used your phone. It wasn't even locked."

"Because I trust you not to look through it."

Alfred eyed Arthur's phone. "My phone was dead."

"So you couldn't knock on the bathroom door?"

"I wasn't—" Alfred paused. "Don't turn this against me. I asked you why it's such a big deal that I used your phone."

Arthur dug his nails into his arms. "… You should've asked me to use my phone."

"Why was it a problem?"

"It's _my_ phone. I have personal information on it. Texts, pictures, email."

"Arthur, look at me."

Reluctantly, Arthur tore his eyes away from the shapes in the rug and looked to Alfred. "What?" Alfred's frown threw Arthur off. It didn't feel right. Arthur's stomach turned.

"You sound like you don't trust me. I'm not gonna steal from you."

"I never thought you'd steal from me." Arthur frowned, disappointed. "I just… I don't know. I don't want you to…"

"To what? See anything on your phone?"

"It's all private, Alfred."

"Private from your boyfriend?"

Arthur sent Alfred a pained look.

"…Are you texting him? Calling him? Sending him pictures?"

"Play your game."

"No. I want you to tell me."

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "No. You don't trust me."

"Well, you don't trust me!"

Frantic knocking broke the atmosphere. "Hey! We're here!" Al called through the door almost as if he was trying his best to break up the argument inside.


	29. Chapter 29

Half Baked

Chapter 29

Oliver tied the ancient gel jump rope into a tight knot around his inner tube, grunting as he did so. Arthur watched as he held his own inner tube which Oliver had already tied with the gel rope. Oliver hissed with annoyance as he adjusted the sun hat he wore before letting out a sigh.

"Finished."

Arthur stared at the gel rope that kept their inner tubes attached. "Is this good enough?"

Oliver stared at the gel rope. He tugged on it. "Mm." He yanked on it, and he nodded, satisfied. "Yes. This will do. If we get lost, we'll have each other."

"You're sure leaving our phones in the lake house was a wise decision?"

"Have you locked yours?"

Arthur frowned and nodded.

"Then it was a wise decision."

Arthur grunted, displeased. "What about leaving Al and Alfred alone in the lake house? Have you thought that part through?"

"Bah." Oliver waved a hand before beginning to spread sunscreen over every visible area on his body. "They're like territorial cats. They might hiss and spit at each other, but they're very social. They'll end up liking each other."

"Al and Alfred will end up liking each other?"

"… Sure. Yes. Perhaps." Oliver gave Arthur a smile and passed the container of sunscreen to him. "They certainly can't beat each other up."

"Yes, they can."

"They won't. Don't be silly." Oliver watched as Arthur lazily coated an arm with sunscreen. He sighed softly and took the sunscreen before squirting some on his hands and vigorously covering Arthur's other arm. Oliver's inner tube dragged against his ankle over the dirt-orange sand. "Seriously, Arthur. I know that Al beating up Alfred might've worried you, but I need you to trust me on this. Al won't throw a punch unless someone _really_ deserves it."

"But—"

"—Ah, ah. It's fine. Like I said. They'll hiss and spit at each other. They'll put on big bravados. The only difference is…" Oliver gripped Arthur's shoulder and turned him ever so slightly to meet his cloudy green eyes. "They both care much more about you than they do about their stupid pride."

A pleasant, calm warmth dusted Arthur's cheeks.

That is, before Oliver spread some cool sunscreen over Arthur's face.

"Besides. Today is a day for _relaxing._ Yesterday was far too charged."

Arthur hummed in agreement. He stood still, arms slightly away from his sides. The sunscreen had to dry before he felt comfortable lazing about in an inner tube. "I'm just going to be wearing a shirt anyway," he murmured.

"Well, yes, but sunburns are the devil."

"You've picked up a sunscreen that's 100 SPF."

"I've battled the devil, Arthur."

Arthur held back a snicker. "Isn't your hat doing enough?"

Oliver set the sunscreen down in the dirt-sand. "It's working, it's working."

"And the top?"

"Are you going to ridicule my bathing suit top? Nipple sunburns are the worst, and I've brought a limited amount of shirts." Oliver lifted his hat, pulled down his sunglasses, and settled his hat again. He was nearly fully protected from the lake. "…Flipper."

Arthur picked up his inner tube, but paused. "The dolphin?"

"No. The clean curse."

Arthur's lips pulled into a half smile before he set the inner tubes down on the wet sand. "What about it?"

Oliver's eyes darted around the area. Sunscreen. Sun hat. Sunglasses. Bathing suit. Inner tube. Ancient gel jump rope. Dirt. Sand. Rocks. Sand. Grass. Awful lake water. Decrepit dock. Bug-infested surroundings. "Where's my shoes? The protect-your-feet-from-glass shoes."

"You think there's glass in the lake?"

"I _know_ there's glass in lakes. You know idiot teenagers throw their broken bottles into lakes to dispose of the evidence."

Arthur looked to the opaque lake water. And then to Oliver. And then to Oliver's sneer at nature. He hooked an arm around their tied-together inner tubes. "Perhaps we should do this in the pool."

Oliver's eyes lit up, and he pulled off his sunglasses. "There's a pool? A nice, clean, cool pool? Manmade?"

"Yes. There's one on the deck." Arthur hooked his other arm around Oliver's inner tube. "You take the sunscreen and anything else. I'll carry these."

Oliver bit his bottom lip in thought and then in dread. "No. Go ahead and drop them. I'll risk injury." He stepped over to the water's edge before looking to Arthur. "Let the cats hiss and spit. We need relaxation." His voice fell into a self-spiteful mutter, "god-awful pure nature relaxation, but relaxation nonetheless." Oliver took a step in the water and shuddered. "It's…very…slimy."

"There's fish in it."

"Yes, Arthur, remind me about the fish."

Arthur's lips tugged into an amused smile as he waded into the water. He stopped when the water was pooling around his knees. "I'll help you in yours. I can get in mine on my own."

Oliver let out a whine as he stepped further into the water. "It's so stagnant…"

"Don't worry about it. Soon you'll be in your tube. Only a little bit of you is going to get wet, okay?" Arthur held Oliver's tube steady, watching him. "Alright, it's going to want to slide out from under you, so…" He positioned it just behind Oliver. "You're going to fall back into it, okay? If you try to sit, it'll slide."

Oliver sighed and gave Arthur a nod. "Fine." He looked back at the tube before facing forward. "It's steady?"

"It's steady. Fall back."

Oliver reached back as he allowed himself to fall backwards—directly into the water. He let out a short-lived shriek as the water engulfed him to his shoulders. He sat up, frozen in the water and staring straight ahead as Arthur laughed.

"I'm sorry, Oliver—" He spoke between gasps of air, "—I couldn't resist! Sorry—"

Oliver met Arthur's gleeful eyes with a pointed frown before he tossed his wet sun hat onto the sand.

"Ehe… Oliver? I said I was sorry," Arthur's voice and merriment shied down to a whisper and hesitancy.

Oliver's lips quirked into a smile before he grabbed Arthur's leg, yanking him down into the water with him. Arthur let out a yelp and sent a wave of water at Oliver.

Oliver sat. Wet.

Arthur sat up and watched Oliver for a moment, unsure of where they stood.

"I heard you," Oliver hummed. "Apology accepted." He stood and pulled Arthur up with him. "Besides. It feels much cooler now. Much better. That shirt'll be very comfortable for you. The sunscreen's ruined, but the day isn't _that_ sunny." He eased himself down into his inner tube.

"I thought sunburns were the devil," Arthur murmured.

"Wasting time's the devil, too." Oliver patted Arthur's inner tube.

Arthur's tenseness disappeared, and he slipped down onto his tube, stomach down and head supported with crossed arms. His eyes slipped closed as the tubes drifted slowly. Oliver's hands sunk beneath the water and his toes dipped in every so often. Oliver watched the clouds, not wasting a single shred of energy to express excitement. Arthur's legs dragged over the submerged sand and hung in the water when it got deep enough. His mind edged between consciousness and sleep.

Boats and jet skis purred in the distance.

Oliver inhaled and then sighed softly. "Arthur."

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

Arthur's eyes peered open at the water a foot away from his face. "Resting. Enjoying space."

"He suffocates you?"

Arthur's head fell to the side, and he watched Oliver. "Yes. I've had to confiscate all his pillows."

Oliver sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees. He watched Arthur through his pink-tinted sun glasses. "I'd rather you not joke about it."

"I'd rather you not bring it up."

Oliver's index finger rubbed circles into his knee. "You'd rather—" Oliver let out a sigh, "—be happy with Alfred." When Arthur didn't speak, Oliver tensed with a slight realization. "That's right, right? I've just been misunderstanding it all, and you do like Alfred, and you do intend to be happy with him. Right?"

Arthur's eyes fell down to the water again, and they slipped closed. "I'd rather Alfred be happy," he murmured. Arthur felt Oliver's cool hand rest against his burning back like an ice cube resting against a flame.

As the silence dragged on, Oliver began to gently drag his hand along Arthur's back in some form of comfort. The jet skis' and boats' purrs began to bear down on Oliver's ears despite how far away they were.

Oliver's question burned in his mind and wished to leap from Oliver's lips. Oliver held back his curiosity as much as he possibly could before he couldn't bear it any longer. "He won't be happy with you?"

Arthur whispered a, "no," far too fast for Oliver's comfort.

"…Why not?"

Arthur remained silent.

Oliver tensed, and his brows furrowed together with worry. "Arthur, why won't he be happy with you?"

"You said you worked at a bakery with Al, right?" Arthur spoke louder than necessary.

Honestly, it jarred Oliver just a little. "Well… Yes, but we can talk about it later. This is more imp—"

"What's he like to bake with?"

"…Arthur?"

Arthur remained lying on his stomach, eyes closed and legs lingering in the water. "Unless he doesn't bake. I thought he did. Doesn't everyone who works in a bakery bake? Is it a specialty place?"

"Arthur."

"I was thinking of asking Alfred to get groceries so we could all bake something together." Arthur's fingers dipped into the water. "You and Al could be the co-managers. Alfred and I can handle other things. Let's bake something. What should we bake?" Arthur looked to Oliver, daring him to dig further into his sensitive, one-sided conversation.

Oliver watched Arthur, disappointed and worried. "…We'd need to look around the lake house kitchen first to make sure we've got all the right tools. Then we can make something."

"Let's go back."

"We're still very close to the dock." Oliver's tone of voice was gentle—like a mother's or like someone who was trying to calm a skittish kitten. "You could probably stand if you tried."

The tone made Arthur sick to his stomach, but he shifted nonetheless. Arthur rolled off his inner tube before poking out the center and gripping the tube for support. "The shore's close. If we both kick, we'll get there faster."

Oliver frowned softly, but he managed to drop his lower body through the tube's hole and kick with Arthur to shore.


	30. Chapter 30

Half Baked

Chapter 30

"So," Al murmured, breaking the steady stream of video game characters grunting and yelling, "yesterday was something."

Alfred kept his eyes glued to the TV, same as Al. He took a moment to remain silent, debating on ignoring Al—no doubt he was just trying to throw an insult. Probably. "Yeah. The thunder early on was a bad sign."

The two grew silent and focused on their characters throwing magic and punches at each other.

Alfred spoke up, concerned that he was tempting fate by resuscitating the conversation, "I thought it'd rain all day." He muttered a curse under his breath as Al's character threw his clear off the screen.

Al's lips quirked into a smirk.

Alfred leaned back against the couch as he used his temporary immunity to chase Al's character around the screen. "Rain sucks, y'know?" He spoke through gritted teeth as his character threw kicks and items.

"Rain's cool."

Alfred glanced at Al before watching the screen intently. "You can't really do anything in it. That's what I meant. No swimming. No hanging outside."

The buttons on their controllers clicked as their characters fought each other with vigor.

"Watching rain's nice," Al murmured. A hum reverberated in his throat when Alfred's character managed to hit him off the stage. "I thought you were gonna talk about how I thought you were gonna hit Arthur."

"What—?" Alfred paused the game and looked to Al, taken aback by the suggestion. "The fuck are you talking about? I'd never do something like that."

"How would I know?" Al rested the controller in his lap and met Alfred's eyes. "All I know about you is that you'd always kick Arthur out of your dorm room for some ass, he can't be himself around you, you're possessive, and you're overprotective. I mean. I'm just outside looking in, but it looks pretty shady."

"Are you picking a fight with me?"

Al frowned and shrugged. "If you want to, but I'm not gonna throw the first punch. Actually, I really liked this way of fighting." He nodded to the TV screen and at their characters paused in midair combat.

The two kept their gazes locked together as they spoke.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed, "it's more fun."

"Yeah." Al didn't break eye contact. "You wanna un-pause it?"

"In a sec."

"Cool." Al tapped his thumb against the 'A' button. "I mean. If you wanna have sex or something, I'm gonna have to turn you down."

"What—?"

Al shrugged and looked to the couch seat between them. "Fuck, you keep staring at me, and you don't wanna un-pause. I'm starting to think you've wanted to fuck from the start, man."

Alfred's eyes drifted down to look at Al's body before his eyes shot to the coffee table. "I _don't_ want to fuck you."

"Then you're gonna have to clear the air, because I dunno how much more of this atmosphere I can take."

Alfred set his controller down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. He stared up at the ceiling. "I don't. I just want to get along with you."

"Naw. You wanna fight."

Alfred could hear the smirk in Al's voice. "Fighting's…natural with you. I guess. I dunno. I'm just trying to get along with you."

"And I've been nothin' but pleasant." Al set his controller down on the coffee table. "Guess that's why the air's so weird."

Alfred huffed.

Al rested his arms in his lap and fiddled with his nails. "… Look. I don't think you're good for Arthur. Straight up. Red flag number one: Arthur isn't comfortable around you."

Alfred's head fell to the side, and he watched Al with worry in his eyes. "…He's not? Well— I mean. He's been nothing but stressed since we left school, but… I thought that was 'cause of finals." He sat up. "But he knows I'd never hurt him! I'd never ever do anything to him he wouldn't want—"

Al shrugged. "I don't know that. I just know what I've seen, okay?"

"I wouldn't!"

Al swung a pillow at Alfred's stomach, allowing it to rest there after it settled. "Okay, cool. You don't have t'convince me. You just have t'convince Arthur."

"I have!" Alfred set the pillow between him and Al.

"Great. You haven't, but great."

Alfred let out a frustrated groan and stared up at the ceiling again. "This is bullshit. Arthur knows he's safe around me."

"Like, physically safe?"

"Of course!"

Al watched Alfred silently before his eyes drifted back down to his hands. He dragged his nails together and pressed them into his skin to occupy his time.

"… What other 'safe' is there?"

"There's—" Al sighed as he thought, "—other 'safe's. Like. Mentally safe. Emotionally safe. Other 'safe's."

Alfred crossed his arms, and his eyebrows drew together in thought. "…What kinda safe is he with you?"

"You pickin' a fight?"

"No, I'm just…" Alfred rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "I want him to be all 'safe's with me. But… Fuck, I guess he's not."

Al watched the tiny crescents in his skin disappear, leaving behind a gentle sting. "I guess if I had t'pin it… Emotionally safe. At least. Like. I learned a lot about him between commercials." A fond smile played on Al's lips. "Like how in...shit, I think it was…9th grade. He had his first sleepover, and he and you set fire to a wash cloth when you were trying to make flapjacks. Like how in 7th grade something big happened—that _you_ teased him for. And he didn't like it." Al shrugged. "He never went into detail, though. I never wanted him to." His smile faded. "He looked so sad…"

"…It's—"

"So I told him that I was there," Al stated, intending to get his thought out before Alfred had the chance to change the subject. "I told him that Arthur could always talk about it with me, and I told him that if he was more comfortable, he'd never have to talk about it ever again. He just kept choosing to not talk about it. And we'd talk about something else. Or watch people walk by. Hold hands." His lips tugged into another smile.

Alfred, on the other hand, frowned and idly glared at Al—or more at the positive outcome of Al's behaviors at the time.

Al's mouth opened as he tried to complete his thought. "I can't… Make. Arthur feel a certain way. I could say or do something that'll contribute to his highs and lows, but like. Fuck, he'll get through what he's struggling with, and like. If he needs help, I'm here for him."

"You're here _for_ him."

"Eat my _entire_ ass."

Alfred sat up with anger flaring in his eyes. "What—I'm his boyfriend! You think I'm gonna be comfortable with you talking like that?"

Al's head fell back, and he lazily looked to Alfred. "Aha. _There_ it is."

"What?"

"Nothin'. Just realized why you're 'Penis' in Oliver's phone." Al's snicker evolved into a laugh. "Dude, it's—Oliver's better at this—it's really funny."

Alfred's glare remained, strong as ever. "What's so funny?"

"It's funny that you're so determined to shoot yourself in your foot. A lot. This is why Arthur doesn't feel all 'safe's with you. This is why I think you're a possessive dickhead. This is why Oliver wouldn't give you the time of day." Al stood as he spoke and stretched. "Lemme show you. I can fit your entire world within my hands." He leaned towards Alfred.

Alfred tensed up and instinctively leaned away. "The fuck you think you're doing?"

"Shut up. Stay still. I'm not gonna punch you again." Alfred rested either hand on Alfred's head. "There."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow, still very against Al being so close.

"You're the most important thing to you."

Alfred's eyes widened.

Al released Alfred's head and walked to the kitchen as Alfred thought on his statement. "It's the reason why you apologized to me for trying to get a rise out of me—instead of apologizing to Arthur for treating him like a trophy. I don't give a single shit if you mock me—I make all my best friends that way. _But_ you can bet your ass that I'd deck you if you treated one of my best friends like a shiny object. That's the difference between us."

"I'd care if someone hurt Arthur."

Al opened the fridge and searched for anything he could drink. "Bullshit," he called back to Alfred.

Alfred jumped up and faced Al. "I would! The last time someone hurt Arthur, I beat him up!"

Al let out a mock gasp. "Oh, Jesus, it's almost like I also punched someone who hurt Arthur." He pulled a water bottle out of the fridge and stood up. He leaned against the fridge door to close it.

"You wanna know what happened in 7th grade so bad?"

Al's amusement fell. "Yeah," he murmured. A part of him desperately wanted to respect Arthur's wishes and leave that part of his past buried, but he couldn't help himself. He set the water bottle down on the counter. "But, y'know, stay behind the couch if it'll make me hate you more."

"I thought you didn't wanna pry in Arthur's past?"

"I didn't wanna hurt Arthur by making him talk about it. You're just gonna talk about your side; Arthur's not gonna get hurt from that." Al twisted the cap off his water bottle before pausing. "Right? If Arthur'll get upset if I know what happened, don't tell me."

Alfred remained behind the couch. "He'll be fine. The whole school knew about it."

Al winced. "What the _fuck_ did you do?"

A sting of shame washed over Alfred. "I just—…" He let out a heavy sigh. "I… Arthur was brave. Really brave. Way braver than I ever could be. Close your eyes and picture it all. You're a kid just standing on the sidelines of a hall of lockers. Picture it."

Al paused and leaned on the counter before his eyes slipped closed. "Go."

"There's a short kid with blonde hair. Looks like he just stepped out of a 90-mile wind storm. He's got on a sweater with the arms pushed up over his elbows like a nerd."

Al's lips tugged into a smile.

"He's at his locker, and he's got an envelope getting all crumpled in his hands. Shy kid. Real brave. He's got… A binder or some shit in one arm and that envelope in the other. The kid looks down the hall and gets flustered. He kinda digs his fingers into the envelope and then tries to smooth it out on the side of his locker. The kid _he_ saw is walking down the hall with his friends around him. They're a little loud, I guess." Alfred shrugged a bit as he talked. "They're not awful. They get mean sometimes, but it's not like it's that bad."

"Did this other kid have _dreamy_ eyes?"

"The first kid thought so."

Al frowned, but he kept the image in his head.

Alfred's eyes slipped closed as he imagined the scene. "Kid number one leaves his locker with his note."

"Don't do it, Kid. Walk away."

"Kid number two stops when he sees kid number one." Alfred sighed, and his voice grew softer. "He saw him the whole time. He just pretended not to. The other kids would've teased him. Kid number one closes his locker door and heads over to kid number two and his friends. He doesn't say anything. Not really. And he holds out the note."

Al whined and winced harder, fearing how bad the result was and how much he wanted to run up to kid number one and buy him ice cream.

"Kid number two figures that kid number one was giving him a love note, and he doesn't wanna take it, but he does. He takes it. And his friends mock kid number one."

"Punch 'em."

"Uh-uh," Alfred murmured. "Instead of punching them, kid number two opens the envelope and takes out the note to read it. It's… A really, really cute note. There's a bunch of erase marks where kid number one thought of a better way to say something, and there's a bunch of praise for kid number two. And a question. Kid number two's friends read it, too, and burst out laughing." Alfred's heart ached as he remembered the moment. "They pointed. They laughed. They teased kid number one, but he still stayed right where he was. He was crying, but he stayed there until he got an answer from kid number two."

Al's eyes gradually fell open. "…You didn't."

Alfred chose to keep his eyes closed. "Kid number two knew he couldn't accept kid number one with open arms; his friends and the whole school would tease him like they teased kid number one. But he couldn't hurt kid number one—they were best friends." Alfred waited to give Al a chance to say something—anything. When he was met with silence, Alfred continued on, "But…kid number two was really stupid when it came to thinking things through." Alfred's eyes opened just enough so he could step around the couch and walk towards Al. He met Al's eyes as his soul died within him. "'Look,' kid number two said, 'I'm not into guys, Fart.'"

Al's eyes widened.

"'You're the only guy here that does'—" Alfred stopped a couple feet away from Al. "—'Sucks.'"

The two's eyes were locked together.

"Kid number two dropped kid number one's letter and walked past him without looking back. He heard kid number one running away. He heard his friends laughing and mocking kid number one to each other. After school, kid number two punched his friend who yelled out 'Fart Kirkland likes Freddie Jones,' but that was after school. Kid number two grabbed cookies from his locker during class and took them to the boy's room where kid number one was crying." Alfred's eyes fell to the floor as he went on, unable to hold Al's stare. "He got kid number one to open the bathroom door, and he gave him a hug and cookies. He used toilet paper and warm water to wash kid number one's face."

Al waited a moment in case Alfred wasn't done speaking. When Alfred didn't continue, Al spoke up, "That's that?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. You're a piece of shit."

"Yeah."

"They called him _Fart_ Kirkland."

Alfred winced. "…Yeah."

"Wow. Do you know how fast I'd get suspended if I went to your middle school?"

"I can guess." Alfred let out another sigh and looked to Al. "Why aren't you punching me? I made Arthur cry."

"Yeah, like six years ago. And I said I wouldn't throw the first punch." Al frowned and took a sip of his water. "Don't get me wrong. I definitely wanna punch you. Like. Really hard. Right in your face. But I can't punch a 13-year-old for being a shithead." He paused as Alfred's expression fell more. "'Sides. You look like death already." He bit the inside of his cheek. "So you dropped his note on the ground."

"I picked it back up on my way to check on him." Alfred turned and headed into his bedroom.

Al called after him, "And then you threw it away properly, right? You'd hurt little Arthur's feelings, but you wouldn't litter?"

"Nope," Alfred called back before returning to Al, decrepit note in hand.

Al's eyes widened. "Holy motherfucking shit. You're shitting me. You still have it? What the _fuck._ " He slipped the note out of Alfred's hands to look it over. "Oh my god. Alfred. Oh my shit. Fucking hell." Al set the note down on the counter and looked it over. "He used colors, oh my god. There's a _picture._ You're fucking kidding me. Oh my god. This would've been way cuter if he was four and you were 25. And if he said your hair reminded him of Barbie."

"Get all your jokes out. Arthur'll flip if he sees it again."

"He doesn't know you carry it around?" Al gently began folding the note.

The front door opened.

"Yeah, he knows. He's okay with it." Alfred snatched the note from Al's hands and shoved it in his pocket.

Oliver stared at Alfred as if he'd just been planning a bank heist. Arthur opted to carry the wet things across the room and set them on the back deck. Once Arthur was out of the room, Oliver spoke, "He's okay with what?"

Al winced as he waved the other issue away. "Don't worry about it… You're lookin' a little…lobster."

"We're getting aloe and cake box mix. Immediately." He gently pulled off his bathing suit top as he spoke, "You're telling me later, Allen."

"Yes, Sir," Al murmured before glancing to Alfred with a sly smile on his face.


	31. Chapter 31

Half Baked

Chapter 31

"Please."

"No."

"Oliver, please, you gotta let me do this."

"No."

Al and Oliver stood in the boxed mix isle of the local small-town grocery store. Oliver held a red velvet cake mix. Al held a devil's food brownie mix. "C'mon, Oliver," Al pleaded, "it's just a little. I know how to make it."

"You've practiced this recipe?"

Al nodded.

"Allen," Oliver groaned. "I thought you were trying to quit."

"Only while we were dating, Sweetie."

Oliver frowned and scrunched up his nose in distaste. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Will it smell like weed? Will it _taste_ like weed smells?"

"We'll throw them out if you don't like 'em, okay? _Please,_ Oliver."

Oliver stared at the brownie mix, upset and unwilling to allow Al creative freedom. "You know that just the smell of weed makes me nauseous. The lake house isn't _that_ big. If it smells, it'll stink up everything. Get Alfred to buy a bottle of vodka or whiskey or something if you have to experience law-breaking."

"Please? C'mon, Oliver. Everyone needs to relax."

"I swear that I'll make your life a living hell."

Al huffed and set the brownie mix back.

After a moment of contemplation, Oliver picked up the mix. "No weed. We can have chocolate, though."

"What am I gonna do with the stash I brought with me, hm?"

"Oh, I don't know. Smoke it? Perhaps?" Oliver lifted an eyebrow before tossing both mixes into the basket hooked around his arm. His mouth hung open ever so slightly. "You and Alfred can spend time outside drinking and smoking by the pool while Arthur and I lock the doors. How's that?"

Al frowned and shrugged. "Fine."

Oliver looked over the wall of mixes and frostings, deciding between a few. "So what were you and Alfred talking about earlier? You both were unscathed, I noticed. Good job. Must've been hard."

"The Thing that Happened in 7th Grade was Arthur's confession," Al whispered.

Oliver's eyes shot up to Al.

"Alfred turned him down. Made fun of him a little. He cheered him up later, but it felt like too little too late, y'know?" He spoke with empathetic regret—as if he'd done the awful thing himself.

"Yes," Oliver hissed, "I am familiar with the correlation of Alfred and too-little-too-late." He growled to himself before picking up an icing.

A smile curled onto Al's lips as he still whispered. "You still wanna get in bed with him, don't you?"

"Allen! Bite your tongue!"

Al watched Oliver with a sly smile. The longer he watched him, the more it seemed like the sunburn on Oliver's cheeks was darkening. "You still think he's cute."

Oliver scoffed. "Alfred's got a stupid face and a stupid head."

"Two different stupids?"

Oliver looked up at Al with a look of pity (for himself). "Yes," he admitted with a groan. "His face is so pretty. The dumb idiot. Why'd he have to be stupid? And rude? And a piece of human garbage. Ugh. He's cute, Allen." He rested his head against the shelf. "Why am I cursed?"

Al let out a laugh and patted Oliver's head. He looked up to see Arthur standing a few feet away at the end of the aisle. He gave him a smile. Then froze.

Arthur stared at the two of them with his eyebrows knitted together in a mix of uncomfortable emotions.

Oliver looked from Al to see Arthur standing. He began to smile, and then he remembered Al's hand on his head. And the fact that he'd just called Arthur's boyfriend cute, sexy, and regrettably stupid. His face fell. "Arthur—"

"I picked out cookies."

Oliver looked to the box of pre-made cookies Arthur held.

"In case everything goes pear-shaped."

Oliver stood and cautiously accepted the cookies, very aware of Arthur's personal space. "Ah, uhm. Thank you, Arthur." He placed the cookies in the shopping basket. "Could we talk about this?"

"No— No, I'd rather not. Let's forget it."

"Arthur—"

"Alfred," Arthur raised his voice as he turned and headed back to where he was before, "what've you picked out?"

Oliver stared off for a few moments in silence as his shoulders shook.

"… Oliver, are you okay?"

"He's my _friend,"_ Oliver whispered and looked to Al with desperation. "I'm his _friend._ I'm the unmistakable golden child who always knows what to say."

"Yeah, I know."

"No, you don't get it!" He still whispered before shoving the basket against Al's chest so he'd hold it. "I'm supposed to be the Untouchable! The Holier-Than-Thou! Allen!"

Al shrugged and gave Oliver a sympathetic smile. "Welcome to the club."

"I have to hurt Arthur to be his friend?"

Al gave Oliver a pained smile. "Evidently. If you can't mop up this one, I'm gonna step in, okay? Be careful. Study Bug's got a real hard shell. It's super tough. Hard to break through."

"Oh, I'm not going to take a pickaxe to his protective shell." Oliver picked up another container of icing and set it down on the box of cookies. "I'm going to ask him to take it off. And he's going to do it."

"That'll be a real trick."

Oliver sent Al a frustrated look. "Be serious about this, please. I've never ever wanted to be in a position like this with him. And you know me better than he does, so—"

Al's amused expression fell. "Oh. He…really thinks you'd go behind his back and have sex with Alfred?"

"And you pet my head. Thanks."

Al passed the shopping basket back to Oliver and raised his hands in defeat. "Hey, hey. That's just how I show affection for you. You needed a head pat, and I gave you one."

Oliver picked up another icing container and dropped it in the basket. "You might as well have shoved me against the cake wall and made out with me. And now Arthur's under the impression I'm after his boyfriend." Another wave of panic washed over him. "I'm on his blacklist. There's no doubt about it. Allen, I'm public enemy number one in his eyes."

"Damn. We'll have to stop by the dollar store for some handcuffs." Despite his best efforts, Al smiled at the prospect of teasing Oliver.

"Shut up," Oliver groaned and focused on sorting what they had in their basket, dreading the awkward environment he'd suffocate in later.


	32. Chapter 32

Half Baked

Chapter 32

Oliver crossed his arms. He shifted closer to the wall. His folded arms shrunk to his chest, and he settled for resting his hands on his upper arms. His frown was tight, and his eyebrows were drawn together so tightly, Oliver was sure the wrinkles would become permanent.

Was he small enough yet?

Was he out of Arthur's way?

What did Arthur think?

Oliver watched Al, Arthur, and Alfred from where he stood by the sliding glass door. Alfred and Arthur sat on the barstools (as precariously as possible) as Al had commandeered the kitchen. Arthur intended to watch Al in action while Alfred was fully content with Al doing the busywork. Al, in his knowledge of the situation tried his hardest to be the life of the party. Ugh. A part of him felt too much like his perception of Alfred—a poor boy desperate for the spotlight's attention.

Arthur leaned on the counter, and his gaze fell down to the icings. He tapped a finger against the chocolate frosting container. The light of realization filled his eyes, and he looked to Al like a kid who'd just heard the story of Santa Claus. "Could we put frosting on the brownies? Maybe?"

Oliver opened his mouth to say 'of course' but his words died on his lips as Al and Alfred each agreed to Arthur's request without missing a beat. Oliver leaned against the wall harder. Or. What he assumed to be harder. More out of the way. More silent.

"Arthur," Oliver murmured, almost afraid to catch Arthur's eye.

Alfred and Al looked to Oliver with an almost equal amount of confusion. Neither of them had ever seen Oliver so cautious about grabbing attention.

Arthur, who was nearly married to the feeling of wanting to be invisible, glanced at Oliver before placing his gaze on the frostings again. Every fiber of his being despised how Oliver cowered—not because cowering and spineless go hand in hand, but because Arthur knew _he_ was the only reason Oliver felt uncomfortable. "Yes, Oliver?" His mumble, while Arthur saw it as trying to remain on equal attention-fearing levels with Oliver, ended up cutting Oliver to the core. It didn't matter what Arthur intended or how cold, dismissive, or concerned he was perceived to be—any reaction would've made Oliver's heart leap.

"It's all just sweets," Oliver spoke up. He never really was very good at self-hate. "We'll decorate them any way you like."

"You'll let me have this?" Arthur's finger tapped against the chocolate frosting. He felt his stomach swallow his throat with a heavy weight of regret. What right did he have to throw a sarcastic remark at Oliver?!

Alfred sent Arthur a casual smile. "What're you talking about? No one's gonna keep food from you. You can have whatever you want."

"Some might like chocolate more than me," Arthur mumbled as he wished he could punch himself—but he'd be stopped, unfortunately. Damn it, why couldn't he just be honest about what he truly felt for one solitary second instead of mutating his social interactions into passive aggressive battle fields?

Al quickly set the mixing bowl down in front of Arthur in his best attempt to kill the metaphor. "Could you help mix, Arthur? My arm's getting tired."

Arthur, thankful that Al took the reins of the situation, dropped his involuntarily negative tone and began making concentrated efforts into mixing the brownie batter correctly.

Al looked to Oliver in a wordless attempt to see if he was alright. Oliver gave him a tight smile. Alfred, who was thoroughly confused by the freezing atmosphere, tried his best to glean anything from the interaction. "Arthur, are you okay? You seem off."

"I'm fine."

"You're not…like this. Usually. Prickly." Alfred paused before letting out a groan. "Did I do something?"

"No."

Alfred rested a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Just tell me what it is, so I can apologize for it, okay?"

"God forbid you give a genuine apology," Al muttered as he took out a baking pan.

"Allen."

Al huffed softly and set the pan on the stove.

Arthur set the wooden spoon in the bowl and looked to Alfred. "You didn't do anything. I promise. I just…would like to forget it. If possible."

Panic filled Oliver. If Arthur intended to shove his hurt down and stomp on it as always, it'd always exist in him. Arthur would always suspect that Oliver would try to usurp Alfred's heart or Al's. "No," he stated (albeit weakly stated, but stated nonetheless). He headed over to Arthur's room. "Meet me in here," he added, "We _have_ to talk about this."

"Let's just drop it, Oliver." Arthur stared at the countertop intently. Indulging in such a raw, eggshell atmosphere felt worse than digging his nails into a scab. It'd only take seconds before he'd see his blood bead and drip for everyone to see.

"No, we have to talk it out otherwise you'll always let it hurt you."

"Leave it alone." Arthur propped his head up with his hands to try and further try and hide from the confrontation.

Oliver paused before he stood up straight and crossed his arms. "I won't have this eating me alive. Life's too short to feel guilty over something stupid."

Arthur turned around, shocked and taken aback. "Stupid?"

"Yes! This is stupid."

"Oliv—"

"Not now, Allen." Oliver pushed open the door to Arthur's room. "I just spent an hour feeling like I have to be invisible, and it _sucks!_ I have no idea why you'd _ever_ want to keep your assumptions and feelings repressed. It just eats you up inside, and you feel like it'd be better if you didn't exist. Over something _stupid!"_

Well, Al thought, it hadn't taken long until Oliver felt the need to rip up the passive aggressive foreplay everyone else had no trouble trying to drag their feet through. "Oliver, you're the only one that thinks it's stupid."

"Whu— Bu…" Oliver shook his head. "I don't care! I'll talk about it right now out here if you don't want to speak in private."

"Don't," Arthur stated, his desperate tone evident. He'd die before digging into his inner scabs.

"Yeah, I will, because I'm not going to shut up and smile pleasantly when there's an elephant in the room."

"Don't!" Alfred and Arthur shouted in unison before the two of them locked gazes.

Oliver halted as if he'd just realized he'd be holding a lit match over an oiled up stack of wood. "… I meant—from my standpoint. I'm going to be honest about _my_ feelings so you're not a basket case over it, Arthur. And…Alfred…I assume." He looked to Alfred. "Alfred, I think you're very attractive. Very sexy. Al, we've dated in the past. I love spending time with you and being close to you."

Arthur's eyes fell to the floor as he tried to ignore the Oliver's confessions. Stop, stop, stop, he repeated in his head like a mantra. Every additional statement of Oliver's felt like it tore another layer of clothes off Arthur—and soon he'd be bare and vulnerable.

"But I would never—in any world, in any universe, in any life—date either of you. Not only because Arthur's my dear friend, but also because I despise dating. For myself and for Arthur, I would never ever have any relationship with either of you aside from friendship." He paused. "Or nemeses. Arthur, you _cannot_ tear yourself apart over this, because you know for a fact that I would _never_ do anything to hurt you, okay? If you have to bottle anything up or stomp anything down, let it be that thought in your head that says I'd betray you somehow."

"So you…," Alfred dared to address the conversation, "hate the work that goes into dating?"

Oliver sent him a frustrated glare. "I'm not that shallow."

"You were just saying how you think I'm sexy."

"And that I'd never date you in a million years! Trust me, if you were 100% single, I'd still not go out with you because you're—" Oliver swallowed down his rant and let out a frustrated huff. "My character and your character are not compatible. I'd be shallow if I intended to date you despite the incompatibility." He stared at Arthur with a frown. "Arthur, come into the bedroom so we can talk."

Arthur remained still as he blocked out all of the surrounding stimulus for fear of being swallowed alive by his own embarrassment.

Al leaned over the mixing bowl and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Hey," he murmured with all the gentleness he was capable of producing, "Study Bug."

Arthur's eyes shot to Al and his tense frame gradually softened.

"You're okay." Al gave Arthur a relaxed smile. "You can do this. You can talk. Right? You beat up all those finals and those classes. You mixed the brownies real well. You can handle a talk. No problem."

Arthur's jaw clenched, and his eyebrows drew together. He nodded, although unsure. He'd been forcing his strongest emotions down and forcing himself to heal over them for so long, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep them sealed.

"We'll put on the frosting when you're done, right? Can't have the best brownies ever without frosting. Go have an easy talk, Study Bug." Al's thumb rubbed against Arthur's shoulder for more complex stimulus—to guide Arthur back down to Earth.

Arthur nodded again, less unsure. He gave Al something between a tight and determined smile. Al was here. Oliver was here. Alfred was here. Between the three of them, someone was bound to be able to handle whatever situation would happen. The relief tried worming its way throughout Arthur's muddled mind.

Al released his hold on Arthur.

Arthur stood, thankful for the change of pace regardless, and headed into the bedroom.

Al locked eyes with Oliver. "Go easy on him."

Oliver, more relieved than jealous of Al's skills, nodded and pulled the door closed behind him.

Alfred yanked his gaze from the bedroom door to Al. "What the fuck was that all about?"

"Depends." Al finished up his mixing before lifting the spoon from the bowl and licking it as he lifted an eyebrow. "What's _your_ elephant in the room?"


	33. Chapter 33

Half Baked

Chapter 33

Arthur sat down on the bed and stared down at his hands in his lap. Oliver stood across from him. Neither of them had meant to call forward an atmosphere so thick, but it was there and unavoidable. Oliver took a seat beside Arthur, wanting respect Arthur's personal space while also trying to speak to him on equal ground. "…Arthur, you know for a fact that I love you. I would never ever want to do anything that'd make you unhappy. I want you to be happy. I want to help you be happy."

"No one wants someone else to be happy if that someone else is in the way," Arthur murmured, jealous that Oliver could admit love so easily.

Oliver's eyebrows drew together in empathetic pain. "You're not in anyone's way. And—even if you were, who cares? Any friend worth their salt would want the other to be happy, right?"

Arthur's gaze drifted down to the floor, not wanting to answer—afraid to answer, afraid to admit he'd been keeping Alfred in a fake relationship just because he was terrified of losing him.

Oliver's tight smile fell into a frown. "Arthur, would you look at me? Please? Friends want what's best for each other and what would make them happiest, right?" At least that's what Oliver understood about friendship. Shit, was this another breach of etiquette the alloromantics wouldn't tolerate? Ugh. Oliver mentally groaned at the politics of romance.

Arthur pulled his eyes from the floor to stare at Oliver's chest.

Well, that was better than nothing, Oliver figured. "Right?"

"Right," Arthur mumbled.

"And you know what would make me the happiest person in the world, right?" Oliver leaned closer to Arthur.

Arthur lifted an eyebrow as he kept his eyes on Oliver's top shirt button. "Having sex with Alfred and being Al's boyfriend?"

Oliver pointedly frowned. "It's as if you've heard nothing I said."

"Sorry."

"Get out of your head." Oliver placed his hands on Arthur's cheeks and lifted his head to meet his eyes. "I _hate_ dating. I _hate_ hurting people I love. I _hate_ romance when I'm expected to be accountable for it. What would make me the happiest person in the world is if all my friends were happy. Among other things. It's just a bonus if I can possibly help them get their happiness."

"So…"

"Plainly speaking, as long as Al and you are happy—together or not—then I'm happy." Oliver paused before adding. "I have other friends, too, but this takes priority. Different friends for different things, you know."

"No…"

"No?"

"No."

Oliver frowned and released Arthur's face. "'No.' Arthur, personalities aren't just one-track. Or—rather, people have different sides to their personality. For instance, I've got friends in the art department. We talk about cartoons, oils, sculpting, sarcasm, art supply prices, nudity, and a good deal of them seem to want to go into animation… And—there's Matt. He's. He does drugs."

"You have a friend for drugs?"

"No. It's. My friendship with Matt is more complicated. Forget it. Point being: different friends for different things. Um. Al's friends with a few people through sewing and anime. And…" Oliver added in a smaller voice, "cosplay." He spoke up, "I'm sure Alfred has friends for different things. Weight-lifting, football, study groups. So you know what I'm talking about?"

Arthur winced. "…Y…yes."

"So what friends for what groups do you have?" Oliver perked up as he began to draw more information out of Arthur. He never thought he'd have to prepare a friendship seminar to prove that he was a good friend, but he'd do what he had to in order to show Arthur he was rooting for him.

"Um… There's…" Arthur's eyes fell to the bedspread. "You… Through the dorm and Al. There's Al…who I met because he kept hogging the common area. And…there's Alfred. We met a long time ago in elementary school when I moved, and he's been the only constant…in my life." His statement trailed off as he felt shame wash over him. He hadn't gone out of his way to make friends. It'd never work, he figured. He wouldn't be able to keep in contact, and Alfred had enough energy to count for five friends.

"…Alright, yes, I know all of us. Who else?"

"I…have…brothers. And Gil is…an enemy."

"Oh my god."

Arthur gave Oliver a pained look. He felt the burn in his throat and the threat of tears come closer. "I know." He let out a whimper, and his head fell in his hands. "I'm so pathetic…"

Oliver immediately pulled Arthur into a fierce hug. He glared at the wall, angry that Arthur was suffering and angry that he'd never gotten the chance to learn how to grow roots in friendship. "You're _not_ pathetic."

Arthur rested his head on Oliver's shoulder, and he loosely reciprocated the hug. "Yes, I am," he whispered. "I've never made friends aside from you, Al, and Alfred. I can't…have friends. I don't…I don't deserve it. I'm just lucky that you all… That you all talk to me."

Oliver rubbed Arthur's back as he picked apart his words. His eyes darted back and forth vaguely as he cooed to Arthur and assured him that he, Al, and Alfred all truly loved him. Why would Arthur think this way? Why would Arthur say such things? Unhappiness, lack of social ability, bottling up feelings, self-hate, fear of the unknown…

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Arthur whispered out between soft gasps like a mantra. It was true; he was sorry. Day in and day out, Arthur desperately wanted to clutch onto any shred of love given to him—any fleck of attention. He knew he didn't deserve it. Why would he? He'd never done anything worthy of love or care. He was boring—all he did was study and doodle and watch commercials. He had nothing special to offer. He didn't have Al's radiant calmness, Oliver's searing honesty, or Alfred's explosive energy. Hell, he didn't even have Matt's warm strength either! The thoughts threatened to bring Arthur to tears.

"Arthur," Oliver's firm voice temporarily cut through Arthur's spiraling, "you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry…" Arthur apologized for his apologies.

"I'm more than happy to hold you like this—to help you. To listen to you." He paused, trying to drum up a magic answer or question that'd make Arthur feel better at the drop of a hat—it was entirely unrealistic, but…if he shot for the stars, at least he'd reach a shred of progress. "… Why are you saying you're sorry?"

"B'cause," Arthur whispered, "I'm… I'm crying and leaning and apologizing so much." He sniffed and squeezed his eyes closed. "I hate it. If I were you, I'd hate it. It's annoying." He whined, " _I'm_ annoying."

"You're not annoying me," Oliver cooed. "… Would you ever lean on Alfred like this?"

"No!" Arthur shook his head. "Never, I'd never!" He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Oliver. "He'd leave me in seconds if I did this to him."

"If you depended on him..?"

Arthur rubbed his eyes and nodded, hating to face the reality of the situation. "He hates it when I cry. He tries to shut it up." He let out a shaky sigh. "I'm a burden to him," he mumbled. "He's so close to leaving me…"

Oliver mentally scrambled for anything useful—anything he could use in his fight to pull Arthur away from whatever self-hating thoughts he had. "What if…" Oliver murmured, "Alfred did leave you?"

Arthur looked to Oliver with panic nestled in his eyes.

"What if Alfred broke up with you and said he didn't want to be friends anymore?"

Arthur's eyes fell to Oliver's chest as he tried to gather his voice. "I'd…," he spoke in a ghost of a whisper, "I'd be…sad. He—I… I've never been friends with someone for so long… I wouldn't know…what to do."

Oliver gripped Arthur's hands and leaned down to catch his eyes with a determined stare. "You would tell us," he whispered—almost matching Arthur's tone. "You would come to me or Al, and you would tell us."

"But I'd probably cry…"

"Mhm. On my shoulder or on Al's shoulder. One of us will _always_ be available. Always." Oliver rubbed his thumb against Arthur's hand. "We'll hold you, and we'll remind you where Earth is. We'll tell you that you're safe. We'll tell you that we're here for you. Always and forever. And we'll remind you forever if you need us to."

Arthur watched Oliver with a gaze which wavered between disbelief and hope, but he didn't say anything.

"We want you to cry to us—to show us that you trust us."

"But…Alfred doesn't…"

Oliver shook his head lightly. "He just doesn't know how to soothe _you._ He doesn't know how. He hasn't learned. Alfred's very…self-involved. I'm sure he's done everything he could think of that would make _him_ feel better if he was crying and hurt. Maybe he just assumed it'd be the same for you."

"He's trying…"

"I'm sure he's been trying." Oliver looked down at Arthur's hands. "Al knows. I know. You don't want space when you're upset. You want...to be grounded. To be safe. And whatever Alfred tried didn't work." He rubbed a thumb against Arthur's fingers again. "… That's right, right?" Oliver looked to Arthur's eyes. "I'm just…doing my best to make sense of the information I see."

Arthur nodded softly and released Oliver's hands just long enough to rub his eyes. He held Oliver's hands again. He stared down at Oliver's hands and at the light freckles he'd never noticed before.

"… So… Whenever you feel like lifting off the ground, I want you to grab my hand. Whatever you do, whatever you feel, I want you to grab my hand." Oliver leaned down further to catch Arthur's eyes. "Will you do that? Grab my hand when you feel yourself floating, and I'll be your anchor. Okay?"

Arthur's lips tugged into a hesitant smile, and he nodded.

"Good. Are you feeling okay to go back in to the kitchen with everyone?"

Arthur's smile faltered.

"Not yet?"

Arthur's head shook slightly.

Oliver nodded. "Alright. Not yet." He sat up straight and looked down at their hands with a gentle smile. He brushed his finger against Arthur's hand as Arthur mentally drew lines between Oliver's freckles.


	34. Chapter 34

Half Baked

Chapter 34

Alfred never thought he'd understand Arthur's intense avoidance until now. Instead of looking anywhere but at the confrontation as Arthur would have done, Alfred stared at Al, somewhat frozen in place. "What?"

" _Your_ elephant in the room," Al clarified before he broke eye contact to spray the nonstick spray in the baking pan. "Oliver said he was gonna reveal everything, and I get why Arthur shouted 'don't', but _your_ shout was a surprise."

Alfred watched the back of Al's head before his gaze drifted over to the closed bedroom door.

Al huffed as he put away the nonstick spray. "Alright, if you want me to guess, I'll see what I can do. Uh… There's the 'I win, asshole' thing you said. I dunno if Arthur knows about that. There's…that confession note that you kept." He paused, thinking back on the months he's known of Alfred. "You took Oliver out on a date just to make Arthur jealous. Am I leaving anything out?"

"Probably," Alfred muttered, displeased with his past behavior.

"Well, help me out, asshole," Al spoke with no bite in his voice—only with the frustration of not knowing what Alfred was hiding. He picked up the mixing bowl and began pouring the mix into the pan. "What're you so scared of admitting? You already said you made Arthur cry like a lot. Fuck, what's worse than that?" He paused and glanced back at Alfred. "You didn't kill his family, right?"

Alfred gave Al a frustrated frown. "That's not funny."

"Yeah. But I'll keep making bad jokes unless you tell me." He picked up a rubber spatula to collect all the mix into the pan.

Alfred watched Al move, however minutely. "It's not… It doesn't…" His frustration softened into plain shame. "You'd say I'm an asshole no matter what it is."

"Uh, yeah. If it's worse than making Arthur cry, you bet."

"I'm getting sick of being the group's punching bag."

"Then stop doing punching bag shit." Al tossed the rubber spatula in the sink and set the mixing bowl aside. "It's just that easy." He slipped the pan into the oven and set the oven timer. "Listen. It's fun to fight you." Al nodded at the TV for clarification's sake. "But I don't hate you. I hate things you did, but—" He shrugged, "—you wouldn't do those things anymore, right?"

"No. I wouldn't."

"Alright, good. So whatever you're ashamed of, you should probably tell me. Right now. So we can minimize the damage. Y'know?"

"You make me sound like a super villain."

Al let out a laugh and eyed the dishes in the sink. "Nah. Maybe that's why we fight a bunch. You keep stealing my role. Dick."

Alfred's lips quirked into a slight smile. "Is this my chance to be a hero?"

"Depends." Al flicked the faucet on and began rinsing out the dishes. "How bad didja fuck up?"

Alfred's smile faltered as he gave his ongoing deed thought. "Pretty bad," he murmured. He stood and walked around the kitchen island to face Al. "Here, you can punch me after."

Al eyed Alfred, his eyebrows pulling together. His concern grew, and anger cropped up within him. Al turned off the faucet and dried his hands as he spoke, "Fuck no. I'm not gonna ease your guilt with a punch. The fuck did you do?"

"I didn't _do_ anything." Alfred ran his fingers through his hair and finally broke eye contact. "I… I know that Arthur…doesn't love me. I can tell he doesn't wanna be my boyfriend no matter how many times he says he 'cares about' me. The one time he has _ever_ said 'I love you' to me was when I was telling him how he obviously doesn't. He sounded like a robot. It's so obvious."

Al shoved Alfred. Whether the other fell to the floor or against the wall, Al didn't care.

Alfred righted his stance after being thrown off it. His guilt was only partially alleviated. "Pretty shitty, right?"

"Yeah," Al hissed. "You got a plan to fucking fix this? I thought you loved him, you vulture."

"I do," Alfred spoke with desperation in his voice. He glanced at the closed bedroom door, hoping that they were speaking quietly enough.

"So he's just staying with you out of guilt?"

"I…yes?"

Al let out a frustrated groan as he leaned on the counter. He sighed heavily as if he was a disappointed father. "You keep making these fucking stupid decisions. Can't you take a goddamn break? Jesus. Fucking idiot."

"Hey, I'm _trying_ to do the right thing. I'm trying to be a good boyfriend. I'm just…having a hard time with it."

"Just be a decent person," Al whispered with his head in his hands. "For god's sake, Alfred, all you gotta do is treat him like a human being—who you _love."_ He dropped his hands and looked to Alfred. "Do what makes him happy. He's been giving you a free ride all these years. You gotta return the favor; you're way past due."

"I can't break up with him."

"You gotta."

"What, so you can date him?"

"If he wants!" Al glanced at the bedroom door and lowered his voice. "If he wants to date me, then fine. I'd love to date him, but if he doesn't then…that…sucks for me, but, hey, he'll be happy. That's what's important. At the end of the day, I'm Arthur's _friend._ I love him, and I'm gonna do what's best for him."

Alfred squeezed his eyes closed before he looked to the dishes, concentrating on them. "…I can't just break up with him. He might think I don't want him around anymore. He won't get that I'd be doing it for him."

"Okay, yeah, break-ups are hard, but if we all work together, I'm sure Arthur'll figure out we're doing it for him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you're gonna fucking tell him your reasoning. If you just drop him, I swear to god—"

"—Fine, alright!" Alfred paused and lowered his voice. "Fine. Yeah. Okay. I'll… I'll break up with him and let him know it's just 'cause I don't wanna waste his time in a…one-sided relationship." He had a hard time admitting it to himself, but, in Alfred's experience, the truth was always hard to swallow.

"As soon as he walks outta that door."

Alfred gave Al an incredulous look, glanced at the closed bedroom door, and then focused back on Al. "That door?"

"That door. As soon as he and Oliver step out, you're gonna break up with him." Al turned on the sink and began rinsing dishes again. "It's a small house, and Oliver and I will be here a while longer. It'll be hard and rocky, but we'll all ride it through."

"…As soon as he walks out of the bedroom?"

"As soon as he walks out of the bedroom."


	35. Chapter 35

Half Baked

Chapter 35

"I can't believe this," Oliver muttered as he glared at the road in front of them.

Al kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road and signs. He let out a tense sigh and craned his neck back to see if there was incoming traffic. "Yeah." When there was none, he turned and upped his speed.

"Alright so we both recommended that they break up with each other, right? That's what happened?"

"Yeah."

Oliver glanced down at his crossed arms and then out the window. "This is unbelievable. They still didn't do it. They're still both stuck in this unhealthy monster of a relationship."

"Well, it could be worse."

"Allen?" Oliver's eyes fell on him, shocked. "You know as well as I do that they're just not meant to be in a romantic relationship together. I mean. Fine, I _suppose_ Alfred cares for Arthur, but Arthur grew out of his crush for Alfred! It's not right; they're wasting each other's time!"

"You gotta calm down."

Oliver let out a frustrated huff and allowed himself a moment to let go of some of his anger. "… Sorry. But I'm right, right?"

"You still gotta chill out."

"Yes, I've grasped that. I'm relaxed now." Oliver watched the road with tired eyes. "I still…" He sighed again. "I still can't…explain to myself why they're together."

Al merged onto the highway, and his eyes flicked between the roads and his mirrors. "You don't have to. It's not _your_ relationship. As third parties, we gave them advice to put out the dumpster fire. It's up to them to pick up the hose. If we pick up the hose for them, then they're just gonna start another fire."

"That's an…extreme metaphor."

"Thought you'd appreciate it."

Oliver's lips tugged into a small smile. "I do. … And you're right." He rubbed his eyes. "I've got to remember that butting-in is a double-edged sword."

"… That's something you have to remember?"

"Yes," he groaned. "My thought process is different from yours."

Al let out a soft laugh. "You mean you think you know what's best for everyone, and I hang back unless someone says they need me?"

Oliver muttered with slight reluctance, "Yes." He looked to Al with worry in his eyes. "They're…going to break up, right? Some day?"

"You think they're gonna get married, have kids, and buy a white picket fence?"

"God, I hope not." Oliver shifted in his seat and rested his head against it, intent on taking a nap. "I hope they stop wasting each other's time. They'll just…have to waste some time getting there, I suppose."

Al glanced at Oliver before his eyes fell back on the road. "Yeah." He and Oliver already gave Alfred and Arthur the tools they'd need to move on, but now it was up to Alfred and Arthur to use them.

* * *

Arthur's body tucked against the couch's arm while Alfred leaned forward on the other side of the couch. Alfred's eyes remained glued to the screen as if an infomercial about a seemingly magical cleaning cloth was on par with complex story-telling.

Arthur had neglected to say the words 'we should break up, I'm sorry' when he'd left the bedroom with Oliver.

Alfred had neglected to say the words 'let's break up—we're still friends if you want!—but we can't be in a romance whatever with each other since it's so…not gonna work right. We're still friends, I promise' when Arthur had left the bedroom with Oliver.

Their specific words rested in their heads, filled their thoughts, poisoned their moods, and kept them absolutely silent. Al and Oliver had been insistent on leaving the process up to them. Arthur wished he'd done the deed while all his friends were still together. Alfred wished he'd said the words as soon as he'd realized the truth ages ago.

"It was," Alfred spoke up during the commercials, "cool that Al and Oliver visited. They were…fun."

Arthur watched Alfred with a mix of skepticism and sympathy in his eyes. "They were. I'm glad that you and Al got along."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, he's fun to fight."

Arthur tensed.

"… In video games, Arthur. It's. We fought in the fighting games."

Arthur relaxed. "That's nice."

Their eyes gradually gravitated back to the TV screen, and silence filled the room again.

Pressure filled Arthur. His words pounded against his head, desperate to be released. Alfred's chest sank heavier and heavier as he knew what he had to say.

After another commercial had finished, the two of them both let out a cacophony of jumbled words and halted.

Arthur watched Alfred, confused. "I didn't… I didn't hear what you said, sorry. What did you say?"

Alfred shook his head. "You were gonna say something. Go ahead."

He shook his head and stared down at his hands. His nails brushed against his skin. "It's fine. I wanted to hear what you said."

The sound from the TV disappeared. Arthur looked up to see that Alfred had muted it. His eyes fell on Alfred, who watched Arthur with concern written all over his face.

"…Alfred," Arthur murmured as he forced himself to keep eye contact with him, "I don't quite…" He let out a soft sigh and planted his feet on the ground. "I care about you."

"Yeah—" Alfred paused, mentally scolding himself for potentially interrupting Arthur. "Yeah. I know, but not like I do. Care about you."

Arthur's eyebrows drew together, and he frowned. "Y-…yes. I suppose I've been lying to you."

Alfred broke eye contact to look anywhere but at the painful truth of the matter. "It's not like I made it easy for you. I've been a pretty shitty friend to you."

Arthur's heart sunk as he felt the familiar feelings of trying to defend Alfred again. "Alfred, you're not a shitty friend."

He let out a tense sigh, annoyed that Arthur felt the need to pat his back when he didn't deserve it. "Okay, we both lied to each other. For a while. I really hate that…the walking on eggshells thing. I know that you don't wanna hurt my feelings, and I can't do anything but hurt you, I guess. Don't— Don't deny it, okay? I just… Well, I don't wanna face this, but it's… It's gotta happen. We gotta face this."

Arthur eyed Alfred's hand, and he took it and squeezed it. "I thought I wanted to be your boyfriend." He spoke just above a whisper. "But I hadn't had one before."

Alfred leaned back against the couch. He gave Arthur's hand a squeeze in return—to encourage him to speak on.

"I'm bad at making friends, and you were always enough for five friends, but…" Arthur fell silent as he reviewed their past. "I couldn't help but be fascinated and charmed. You were the first person to acknowledge me in such a…friendly and close light. It was brand new. I thought for sure you liked me. _Like_ like me. Because why else would you pay attention to me?"

Alfred brushed his thumb against Arthur's hand, and he silently listened. He wanted to understand—needed to understand. He turned off the TV and set the remote on the table before settling back against the couch.

"…And… I was happy. I never knew why you turned me down when your actions said otherwise, but I was just happy being close to you. I didn't want to address it. Because you might've stopped. You would've stopped being close to me. And—" Arthur huffed, annoyed that he was getting emotional over it all again.

Alfred waited a moment, making sure that Arthur had completed his thought before he spoke up. "I guess," his tone matched with Arthur's, "we're both kinda bad at talking to each other. Being honest and stuff."

Arthur let out a brief laugh, and he nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't— I mean." Alfred thought carefully on his words and their connotations. "You…don't have to feel sorry about it. We kinda worked together on it. Yay, teamwork."

"Yay, teamwork," Arthur echoed.

Alfred's lips tugged into a smile. "For the sake of being honest, I saw you as a best friend the whole time. I'm not too great at…balancing shit. Too many laid nights. Not enough hang-outs. Too many 'friends.'" His smile gradually fell as he stated the truth he'd come to understand. "I took you for granted. And I tried—I tried to put any band aid on it that I could. But that's…not what you needed."

"I needed a friend," Arthur whispered.

"And you made 'em." Alfred nodded. "Just like you should've." He gave Arthur's hand a squeeze.

Arthur watched their hands. "Alfred," he murmured, "we should break up."

Alfred looked to their hands. "…Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

Alfred shook his head and gave Arthur a smile. "No, I'm sorry." He paused for a moment, drawing on what to say that'd possibly ease Arthur's inevitable worry. "Guess we'll just have to be friends."

Arthur's lips tugged into a relieved smile. "Yeah."


	36. Chapter 36

Half Baked

Chapter 36

Al rubbed his wet hair with a towel as he took a seat on his bed. Thoughts of working in the morning filled his head. He almost smelled the sweet scent of freshly-baked pastries as his mind lingered on his work environment. He rubbed at his wet hair with his towel. If he could get it dried before bed, then great. If not, well. Fine.

He fell back against his bed and rolled over before grabbing his phone from his side table with the intent to text Oliver. Screw walking into the other room. Besides, Oliver could've been asleep already. He couldn't wake Oliver up again after he'd tried so hard to fall asleep on the couch.

Al rubbed his eyes when he saw that he got a missed call. He flipped his phone open.

Study Bug had called him.

Al's eyes widened, and his fingers flew to call Arthur back. He pressed his phone to his ear and listened as the dial tone droned on and on before the call went to voice mail. He ended the call with a frown.

 _Don't worry yet._

He looked through his call history and redialed Arthur's number, pressing the phone to his ear again. The dial tone continued until the call went to voice mail again.

"Hey, Study Bug. Just called to make sure you're okay. I was in the shower, so I didn't pick up. Sorry. And I didn't see a text from you. So. Gimme a call tomorrow, and we can talk about why you called." Al bit his tongue. "Um. I'll hear from ya then. Bye." He flipped his phone closed and set it back on his side table. He let out a sigh.

 _Don't worry yet._

If Arthur was in trouble, or upset, or destroyed, he'd send a text or something like that. He'd never been one to just call without leaving a message.

"Crap," Al muttered and grabbed his phone. He sent a quick text to Oliver.

* * *

Al set down the tray of cookies and shucked off his oven mitts.

"Are you taking your break?" Oliver called back to him.

"Yup." Al hung his apron on a hook. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. "Damn it."

"What?" Oliver dropped a sanitary rag in the yellow bucket.

Al shook his head briefly. "He called."

"Which he?"

"Study Bug."

"And that's bad?"

"It's bad I couldn't answer. I'll tell you about it after my break," Al called after Oliver as he headed out the back of the bakery.

The gravel crunched beneath his tennis shoes as he selected the voice mail and listened.

"Hi, Al. I'm sorry to worry you. You sounded worried. Everything's fine. I just wanted to talk with you. I miss you." Arthur's soft laugh pulled a smile onto Al's face. "Even though I just saw you. I'm excited to see each other again in the fall. Or sooner. Call me back—when it's convenient. Bye, Al. This is Arthur."

Al let out a laugh as the voice message ended. He opened up their text conversation, and all greetings flew from his head. His finger tapped against the side of his phone before he typed out a simple message. Al would rather hear Arthur's voice more than his vernacular in text, but he'd settle for anything. He mentally read over his message before sending it:

" _Got your call. I'm working. Sorry. I'll call you when I get out. Keep your phone by you."_

He looked over his message again, and he frowned. Was it…curt? Al rolled his eyes at his own concern and proceeded to send Arthur around ten to twelve emojis to lighten whatever mood he'd involuntarily made.

But what if that was sarcastic?

Al let out a frustrated huff and shook his head. He flipped his phone closed, slipping it into his pocket. He could address it later. Arthur seemed a little sturdier the last day he saw him. Surely, Arthur wouldn't fall to pieces at the possibility that Al _may_ be sarcastic. Al groaned and leaned against the wall, periodically checking his phone until his break finished.

* * *

Oliver rested his upper body against the bakery door just after he locked it. "That took forever," he groaned. He eyed Al as he flicked the 'open' sign to 'closed.'

Al stacked freshly-washed pans, tossed the few dirty dishes he had into the pile of soapy sink water, threw the oven mitts on their correct shelf, and generally sped around the kitchen in a cleaning frenzy.

"Are you…worried?"

"Uh-uh," Al spoke quickly as he scrubbed the food from the dirty dishes. "Just wanna get out of here. You almost done?"

" _You're_ not almost done."

"Wanna bet?" Al sent Oliver a grin.

After some tentative thought, Oliver turned Al's offer down before he went right to work on his closing duties. If Al intended to plow through closing procedures, then Oliver would have to hurry as well—otherwise, Al would bug him until they could leave.

And he did.

As Oliver counted down the drawer and deposited the excess in the safe, Al had gone around the bakery two or three times, checking over every surface and floor for any faults. And ignoring them.

"Just call him!" Oliver shouted at Al from the office. "I'll drive, for god's sake, just call him!" He would've thought it cute that Al was excited to talk with Arthur again, but it'd take some time for him to appreciate it.

Al paused and leaned against the counter, pulling out his phone. He flipped his phone open and read Arthur's text:

" _I'll keep my phone with me and charged."_

No emojis.

"Mm." It'd be dangerous territory to dive into a possibly negatively-charged conversation, but he'd risk it. Al typed in Arthur's number and held the phone to his ear. He eyed the closest table and chairs as the dial tone dulled his senses.

"Al," Arthur's voice rang out over the line, "you've managed to catch me." His breathing calmed as he spoke.

Al's eyebrows drew together. "Are you alright? Panic attack?"

"No, I just had to get out of the theater in a hurry. I haven't had a panic attack."

Al heard the smile in Arthur's voice. It was infectious. "Cool, good, good. I'll let you go, then. Can't miss the movie, right?"

"No, I can talk. I've made sure to leave the theater."

"C'mon. Movies cost money. Don't waste it. I'll talk to you after."

"I want to catch you up really quick."

Al watched as Oliver continued the closing procedures. "What's up, Study Bug?"

"I've missed you. And Oliver." Arthur paused. "Alfred and I talked. He said you two played video games and generally had fun with each other."

"Alfred would be right."

"I'm glad. …We talked some more. About other things." Arthur's finger rubbed against his phone. "We sort of agreed. And we decided to break up. We'd rather be friends. Or…I preferred friendship. He more or less accepted it."

"How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay. We're okay. We're at the movies, after all. It's…weird, but it's a good weird. You know?"

"Yeah, I understand." Al followed Oliver out of the bakery and waited for him to lock the doors. "So you both agreed on it?"

"Yes—" Arthur let out a relieved sigh, "—it was much more mutual than I anticipated. I'm very grateful for it. Uhm—I should get back. Perhaps. I'll text you after the movie, okay?"

"Okay," Al hummed as he pulled out his keys. Oliver stood by the passenger's door, waiting. "I'll text back. Bye, Study Bug."

"Bye, Al," Arthur whispered as he stepped back into the theater.

Once the line cut off, Al pocketed his phone and gave Oliver a calm smile. "They broke up."


	37. Chapter 37

Half Baked

Chapter 37

Al stared at his phone, contemplating his next action. He'd wanted to date Arthur ever since Arthur claimed that Al seemed to own the common area couch. Well. Part of him wanted to at the time. The other part pointed out that he knew absolutely nothing about Arthur. But now, he wanted to…

Al stared at his phone, contemplating his next need. He was earning money. He had at least one job. He had friends. He had living quarters.

The break-up happened much sooner than Al thought it'd happen. He was sure he would've been struggling all throughout the fall semester, supporting Arthur in his dysfunctional relationship. But no. It happened so soon. He knew he should be happy. Things were improving. Everyone got the tools they needed to be happy. So why was he so scared to take the next step?

Al sat up on the couch and muted the TV.

Would it be too soon if he asked Arthur out right now? Would Arthur think it was too soon? Maybe for now they should just be friends. Maybe. Just until they get back to school. Just until they can be in the same room again. After all, love without close proximity was extraordinarily difficult. Not that Al didn't trust Arthur or vice versa—just that… It'd be hard.

Al picked up his phone and scrolled through his messages.

It'd be a lot harder if he waited and said nothing.

He selected Arthur's number and pressed the phone to his ear. Al listened to the dial tone until Arthur's voice came through the line.

"Hi, Al."

Al could hear the smile in Arthur's voice, and he couldn't help but smile in return. "Hey, Study Bug. What's up?"

Arthur's voice was distant as if he'd turned his head away from the phone. "I'm doing alright. But you were the one who called me. How are you?" The sound in the background cut off.

Al figured it was just the TV. "M'fine. Just happy for you."

"I think I'm feeling happy, too."

"That's great." He grinned, honestly relieved. "You and Alfred are getting along alright?"

"Yes—" Arthur let out a sigh of relief, "—we've had to learn how to interact as friends again. There was some soul-bearing. And we understand what we misunderstood about each other. Mostly. But, yes, we're learning how to be friends again." He gasped. "And Alfred's sort of teaching me how to make friends." His voice went silent momentarily. "… That's not…too pathetic, is it? I'm gaining confidence. If that helps for anything."

"Yeah, no. It's great. Attack the world head-on. Imagine everyone in their underwear. All that crap."

Arthur's side of the line went silent as Arthur attempted to imagine his friends in their underwear. He decided very quickly to halt his imagination. "Perhaps I'll just stick with pretending to be all-powerful."

" _Pretending_ to be all-powerful?"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, pretending. I know I'm just human. It's nice to imagine being strong. It's a…fake-it-until-you-make-it strategy."

"I'm pretty familiar with it. And, hey, if it works, then good." Al settled back against the couch, feeling more comfortable with Arthur already. "I like to use the fuck-it adjustment."

"… You…have sex with lack of confidence?"

Al let out a laugh. "Nah, nah. If something's got you down, just say 'fuck it'."

"Fuck it."

"Yeah."

"Mm. Perhaps just mentally, I'll do that."

"Yeah, whatever works for ya, Study Bug." Al's eyes gravitated towards the TV. He didn't know a thing that the commercials were saying, but honestly he just liked watching the activity on-screen. "So Alfred's doing okay?"

"Mhm, he's asked how to be considerate. I told him he's got sort of a grip on it. He wanted a little more feedback, so I just told him to do everything the opposite of Gil." He stifled a chuckle. "That seemed to work better than stepping around the issue. Honesty's amazing. Who knew?"

"Fuckin' no one. Honesty's a secretive bastard."

"Try as I may, I can't keep up with your facetious nature." Arthur dismissed the conversation's playful tone in favor of learning more about what was going on in Al's and Oliver's lives. "What's Oliver up to? I don't hear him."

Al shrugged. "He's at a friend's house. Gives me some alone time. Oliver's great, don't get me wrong, but alone time is nice, too."

"I agree."

"Arthur," Al murmured, thinking through how he'd ask Arthur out.

"Yes?"

Al stared straight ahead and bit his bottom lip. "… Have you made your schedule for next semester? Tied up loose ends? Figured out where you'll be staying?" His stomach spun with the unfamiliar feeling of nervousness.

"Ah, yes. Way back in March. You know, when the schedule for next semester went up?" Arthur let out a groan at the memory. "I had to wake up early to be on my computer in time to sign up when the schedule opened."

"Oh my god, you nerd."

He laughed. "Well, it was already open for the higher grades. I wanted to have a shot at getting the classes I wanted at the times I wanted. Don't tell me you haven't figured all that out yet?" A glimmer of worry snuck into his voice.

"Nah, I got it all down. I settled for some crap classes about a month ago. But I really had to jump on getting room 1407 with Oliver and Matt. It's pretty hard to get a good four-person room in the Studios." The nervousness morphed into a dire need to go through verbal gymnastics while figuring out Arthur's feelings without suffering rejection.

"1407. Right. Yes. I remember the scramble for last summer."

"Yeah."

"So you've already got four people."

"… No, I've got three people." Al's heart sunk when he realized another person probably shoved their foot in the door before he could open the offer to Arthur. Great. He'd have to spend next year sharing a bedroom with a stranger.

"Nope. It looks like someone took the fourth place."

"You're checking?"

"Mhm." The sound of Arthur's clicks made their way across the line. "You've got all four beds filled up. I'm shocked, though. To think that, that fourth bed was still open until a minute ago."

Al's side of the line went silent, and he spoke. "Wait, you're screwing with me."

Arthur's smile infected his voice again. "Maybe. Ah— Shit. Sorry. Should I have asked to join you three before I took the space?"

"No! No, no, this is great!" Al let out a relieved laugh. "No, shit. Damn. I missed you. … I thought you were going to stay with Alfred on the first floor."

"Well, while I really enjoy the idea of not having to depend on the elevator, I only room with people I'm absolutely in love with." Arthur shrugged. "And, you know, I'm just friends with Alfred. I'm not in…in romantic _love_ with him. You know the difference and all that."

Al tried to keep his grin at bay. "… So… You _like_ like me."

"Perhaps."

"I thought that was something you tell a guy in person?"

Arthur sucked in air and winced. "Didn't work out so well for me last time. And I don't know when I'll see you in person next. So. It looks like we're sharing a room."

"Yeah. I'll follow your example. I'll only share a bedroom with my boyfriend. Wanna bite the bullet? Take the fall? Make the sacrifice?"

"Listen to more movie clichés?"

"Yeah." Al couldn't keep down his grin. "Let's do all the clichés."

A laugh bubbled in Arthur's throat. "I'd love to do all the clichés with you."

* * *

Arthur stepped into his new dorm with a couple of boxes balanced in his arms. He set them on the table beside the door and looked to Al. "You alright?" Al sat on the couch with his legs stretched out. He stared outside at the night sky, unable to take his eyes away.

"Yeah," Al murmured. He glanced at Arthur and waved him over. "C'mere. You looked out the window before, right? It's not like a first floor dorm window."

It was true enough. The only outside view any first floor dorm had was staring into the tiny courtyard and at the other first floor windows. Arthur walked over to Al, skirting the bare-bones coffee table as he went. He settled on Al's lap, commandeering it as his own seat as he looked outside.

"Pretty, right?"

Arthur stared out at the city life. The city lights glimmered like hundreds and hundreds of lights of every color on the world's largest Christmas tree. Every so often, a few lights shuddered as the source was obstructed, but it never brought down the overall glow. Arthur leaned against the couch's back and against the window sill.

Al wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist. "Careful," he whispered, "no screen."

Arthur settled against Al's chest and reached a hand out the window. Ah. Fourteen floors up and no screen. Anxiety tried its hardest to infect Arthur's thoughts, but Al's presence spoiled it.

"It's lovely. I've never seen such a nice view." Arthur rested his head against Al's shoulder as he watched the cloudy night sky. He let out a content sigh, and he never wanted to leave. "… Do you think Oliver's mad that we haven't gotten down to the theater yet?"

"Fuck. What time is it?"

"Eight-fifty."

"Shit." Al's body tensed as if he was going to sit up, but he couldn't bring himself to make Arthur get off him. "Is he alone?"

"Uh-uh. Alfred's with him. So is Matt, Kiku, and Feliciano."

Al rested. "They should be fine without us. We'll all see the movie tomorrow or something."

"We committed. He knows where we live."

Al placed a kiss against Arthur's head. "Then why aren't you getting up?"

Arthur lifted his head and gave Al a sly smile. "Do you want me to get up?"

"No."

"Me either." Arthur looked outside one more time before he let out a huff and stood up. "Come on. Time to socialize. We'll never get out bearings if we start the semester off on the wrong foot." He gave Al's hand a squeeze to urge him along.

Al gave him a smile, squeezed his hand in return, and stood. "Guess we can't leave all of 'em to suffer in that movie."

"Romantic comedies aren't all so bad." Arthur grabbed his keys and wallet and pocketed them. He gave Al a kiss and pulled away before he bit his bottom lip. "Especially since they all end so sweetly."

* * *

This is the official end of Half Baked. Thank you, readers, so, so much for taking the time to read this story. I really hope it's been as fun for you to read it as it was for me to write it. If you want to see any bonus Half Baked content or art, please visit the tumblr blog: halfbakedcrew. If you want to stay connected with my story-writing, then please follow my fanfiction account, my ao3 account, or my tumblr blog—all of which are simply: jaistashu.

Thank you again!


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